


Home For Wayward Children

by ptbvisiongrrl



Series: Home for Wayward Children [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adoption, Family, M/M, Season 11 au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-07-19 17:15:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7370560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ptbvisiongrrl/pseuds/ptbvisiongrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At 39, Dean has taken more hits than a NFL quarterback, and his body has begun to feel it. His bones practically grate against each other when he gets up in the morning, and the rain makes him want to ball up into the fetal position until the Tylenol and Jack kick in. But if there isn’t hunting, what is there? All there has ever been is hunting things and helping people, the family business. Well, maybe it’s time to help other people hunt things and expand the family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

FIC TITLE: The Home for Wayward Children  
Author- PTBvisiongrrl  
Part- 1/1 (at least for now; I promise nothing else, but ideas are a–brewing.)  
Date- 3,572  
Rating – PG13. I’m trying to write a smutless fic for a change.  
Pairings/Characters- Sam/Dean brother bond; Dean/Castiel romantic relationship  
Word Count-  
Genre- Angst, Family  
Warnings- Spoilers- AU for end of Season 11. I had already written this before the finale.  
Disclaimers- Unfortunately, I don’t own any of these characters, and make absolutely no profit from taking them out to play…so please don’t sue me. If I did own them, there would be a lot more shirtless Winchesters and Angels of the Lord getting some on the show!

 

Chapter 1

Dean shifted on the cheap motel mattress, feeling each and every spring poke against tender muscles and achy joints. The rough sheets pulled against the hasty field stitches Sam had expertly sewn him up with last night, tugging uncomfortably but still hurting less than the ostrich-egg sized lump on the back of his head. 

“I went for breakfast already,” Sam offered, his voice disembodied from the direction of the small table and chairs in front of the curtained window. “Got you a burrito and coffee. Pain killers over here, too.”

Laying a hand across his eyes to block the light creeping in, Dean sighed deeply, lacking the energy to even reply to his brother. 

Sam made his way over to Dean’s bed, the smell of vanilla coffee thick as he leaned over to move Dean’s hand. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit warmed over,” Dean answered, the gravel in his voice a reminder that, oh, yeah, Amara had tried to strangle him, too. 

“Fighting a primordial evil can do that to you,” Sam tapped Dean’s bicep gently. “Let me see your eyes. You have a concussion.”

“No shit. Bitch slammed me into a fucking stone wall!” Dean spat out, steeling himself for the stabbing pain that opening his eyes would surely bring before slowing blinking open. 

Sam went through the concussion check, having Dean follow his finger with his eyes, asking the date and president, the usual. “As okay as you normally are, at least,” he diagnosed before rising and walking back to his laptop at the table. 

Moving much slower than usual, determinedly ignoring Sam’s gaze following him in concern, Dean made his way to the bathroom to take care of business before breakfast. His burrito was still warm in its aluminum foil wrapper, container of super hot salsa by its side. 

Dean savored the flavor, waiting to down his coffee until after the salty, greasy burn faded. “You already looking for a case, Sammy?”

Sam shot Dean a deadly look of contempt. “Fuck, no. We are going on vacation. We are taking a break, going somewhere that has NO supernatural activity of ANY kind, getting drunk and laid for days.”

The look on Dean’s face showed his surprise at Sam’s wording. “Doesn’t sound like you, but I’m all in. As soon as my bruises and stitches heal, at least. Hard to pick up chicks looking like Frankenstein.”

Sam laughed out loud. “Cas can lure the girls back to your room to share, Dean. Or just smile at them and distract ‘em from the rest of the package.”

Jaw hanging open, Dean could only mutter, “What? Me and Cas? Huh?”

Closing the laptop, Sam leaned back. “We just saved the world, again. You got the shit kicked out of you by Amara because you turned her down. How many more apocalypses is it going to take for you to just admit to what everyone else in the world already knows?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Sammy?” Dean scoffed, drinking more coffee and looking nervously at everything in the room except his brother’s earnest face. 

Sam sighed, crossing his massive arms across his chest and narrowing his eyes. “I know you better than almost anyone else, Dean. I know when you are running away from something. I know when you want something but don’t think you deserve it. I know when you love someone, whether or not you tell him or her. You can’t hide it. Your eyes give you away. You can pull almost any con, could probably fake your way into the White House…but you can’t deny love. And you love Cas. You have for years.”

Dean swallowed, hard. “He’s like another Winchester. He pulled us both out of Hell. He gave up Heaven for us. Of course I love him! He’s family.”

“He gave up Heaven FOR YOU, Dean. He pulled me out of hell—FOR YOU. Put a ring on him and he can be a real Winchester. Get your head out of your ass.” Sam ran a hand through his long hair, standing and beginning to put his stuff into his duffle. “He loves you, too, if you would just open your eyes. And you two deserve to be happy with each other. You’ve done enough for the world, Dean. Do something for you for a change.”

The weight on his body, the years of fighting, of wanting things he couldn’t have, of punishing himself for not being a better son/brother/hunter/man… Dean felt it all and was just tired, too tired to argue against the truth Sam had laid bare between them. “Yeah, Sammy, I love him. I love him so much sometimes I can’t breathe.”

The timbre of Dean’s voice, not just the words, made Sam whip around and stare. 

The look on his brother’s face made Dean chuckle. “I’m done fighting it, Sammy. Hasn’t done me a damn bit of good yet, so why would it now? I’m just…done with it all, to be honest. Tired. Exhausted. Too far gone down the rabbit hole to see the light these days.”

Flashbacks to Famine and Dean talking while he lay dying flitted through Sam’s mind. “What?”

“Not talking about killing myself, here. Just- tired.” Dean finished his coffee and headed to the bathroom. “Let me shower, then let’s make one last sweep to see if there’s anything left to cleanup before we head home.”

“Dean?” Sam asked, his breathing fast. “That’s not something to joke about—“

“Not joking, Sam. I am okay. Really. Tired, and need some time to think. Need to see Cas.” Dean stopped in the bathroom doorframe and turned around to look at Sam. “Serious. I’ll be okay. I’m just done with what we been doing. It ain’t working for me anymore. I’m physically beat, mentally exhausted. Amara—the Darkness didn’t win, we did, but it was a cost. A huge cost.”

“Are you really going to be alright?” Sam pressed, ignoring the huge Cas-themed elephant in the room for now. 

“I need some time to heal. I’m almost 40, man. I don’t bounce back from getting my ass handed to me as quick as I used to. Let me deal with that first, then all the rest. Okay?” Dean asked, earnest, his green eyes clear and honest. 

“Yeah, man,” Sam huffed out a breath in agreement, blowing his hair out of his eyes. 

S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C…

Dean hurt enough, even after a long shower and four Tylenol, that he let Sam drive Baby back to the site of last night’s epic battle. Dean barely remembered the aftermath, he had been hurting so bad. All he clearly recalled was the backlash of both mental and physical pain he had felt when the super-powered banishing spell that used his blood was invoked, seconds after he had buried the bespelled and blessed angel blade into Amara’s heart and twisted it hard. 

Dean knew that Castiel had helped him up off the ground, then Sam (who had been knocked down by the physical world chaos created by the unleashed spell), and sat them both into the Impala. A quick brush of healing Grace to make sure they would live and then Cas had gone off, flown away, to take care of the last of Amara’s turncoat angels. 

There had been other hunters there—Dean knew that, even though he didn’t know their names. While Sam and Dean had been doing their best to fight Amara on their own, her activity had acted as a locus for the supernatural. The rise of creatures and events had brought the attention of several hunters to this area—unfortunately for them. Amara had eaten their souls as an appetizer for her anticipated main course—Sam Winchester’s soul, ripped from Lucifer’s hold—and desert banquet—sweet, fallen angel flesh of Castiel. 

Dean was never in danger, if he went along with her. She wanted him for much more. She wanted him for all time. Creepy mental goddess-stalker. 

Sam and Dean needed to find the bodies and send the hunters off with a proper funeral. Well, Sam did. Dean would mostly be watching, given the damage he had taken. A woman scorned and all that—because for all Amara’s hate, Sam had very little injury. 

Except that when the brothers arrived at the battlefield, sun now overhead rather than moon, the pyres were ready to be lit and there was a small crowd standing waiting for them. 

Cas greeted them as both Winchesters got slowly out of the car. He could see them check that their weapons were at the ready, and hoped that the children standing with them did not. “Sam, Dean,” Cas gave them a nod of greeting with their names. “I’m glad that you arrived now. We are ready to burn the bodies.”

Dean bit his lip at Castiel’s wording, taking quick concussion-difficult stock of the situation. “Who are they?”

“Four hunters died last night. These are their friends and family.” Castiel stepped to the side, introducing Sam and Dean to the group. Two hunters had been married; the three redheaded children—a barely tween girl with a baby in her arms and a toddler of indiscriminate gender clutching her hand—were theirs. The gangly older teenage boy was the nephew of the oldest male hunter, who had been his guardian after his own father had been killed by a wendigo. A barely-teen blonde, wide blue eyes and willowy tall, standing a little apart from the rest of the group, was the sister of the last hunter killed. Two other hunters, one with a bandaged eye and the other with a sling on his arm, rounded out the group. 

The group barely acknowledged Sam and Dean, and Dean felt the grief emanating from them. He knew that grief, knew nothing that could sooth it, and swallowed his reaction. How many hunters had Sam and Dean been forced to burn over the years? But these were hunters they had not known, and it was not their job to step in to do so while family was there. So they let Castiel run things. 

At least until the redheaded tween starting shaking so hard that the teenage boy took the baby from her and the blonde wrapped her arms around the girl, murmuring words of comfort in her ear. “It will be alright, you’ll see. We lost people, but we won. We grieve but we go on. We are hunters, and this is what hunters do.”

That was the point when Dean’s eyes flooded and he had to walk away. 

Castiel’s eyes sent a message to Sam to follow Dean, and Sam did, leaving the group behind to stand guard while the bodies burned. It would take a bit to turn the bodies into enough ash to scatter and bury. Sam followed Dean through the trees a bit, making noise enough that Dean probably wouldn’t shoot him for startling him. 

Probably.

When Sam heard Dean stop walking, and then a sobbing noise tear from Dean’s chest, Sam ran the short distance. Sam wrapped his huge Gigantor arms around Dean and held him close as the tears forced themselves out and his body shuttered hard despite his injuries. 

Sam waited until Dean had calmed and caught his breath, and pulled away from Sam, before Sam willingly let go. “Are you going to be okay, Dean?”

“Those kids…did you hear what the older girl said? This is what hunters do. And those kids are hunters. That is so wrong, Sammy. So, so wrong. No kids should be hunters.” Dean wiped at his eyes, trying to look less like he had just had a monumental emotional breakdown. 

“No kids should be hunters,” Sam agreed. “It’s not fair to a kid. You and I know that better than most.”

“We had no choice in it, Sammy. Dad—Dad was too fucked up to even realize what he was doing to us. Grief practically killed him. Revenge resuscitated him.” Dean bit his lip. “We had to go along for the ride. There were no options—no family, no one he trusted enough to keep us safe.” He kicked at the tree he had been leaning against. “We only lived because we were chosen as vessels. Nothing was going to keep us dead. What’s going to happen to those kids?”

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam shrugged. “Maybe they have family. Just because we didn’t doesn’t mean they don’t.”

“You know any hunters that had families like that, Sammy? Any that didn’t get killed because of knowing us, at any rate?”

Sam shook his head. “Well, what do you want to do about it? If they don’t have family? I don’t know how Jodi would feel about having more kids around. Her house is only so big.”

“We have space,” Dean spoke without thinking. 

“You want to bring five kids back to the Bunker? Us, taking care of kids?” Sam laughed, sharp and disbelieving. “And what do we do with them when we go out on a case? Leave them with Cas?”

“I don’t want to hunt anymore, Sam,” Dean finally said, the words low and heavy, almost a physical weight he had to force out of his mouth. 

“What?” Sam demanded. 

Dean sighed, shifting on his feet, trying to stretch out the tight muscles in his back and neck. “I don’t think I CAN hunt anymore, Sam. I really am getting too old for this shit.”

“What else would you do, Dean?” Sam demanded. Dean had never, ever had a plan for his life beyond hunting. Sam had secretly feared the day Dean gave up hunting, because Sam was afraid that it would be the day that Dean just gave up on everything. 

“Bobby stopped hunting. What did he do?” Dean asked semi-rhetorically. “We help others hunt. We just don’t do the actual killing anymore.”

“Why, Dean? We’re damn good at this.” Sam’s fear bled into his voice. 

“I’m quitting hunting, Sammy, not you. You’re my brother.” Dean gripped Sam into a quick hug, reassuring the bigger man. “And I will never leave Cas. I just have to work up the nerve to tell him that. The Bunker’s a big place, little brother. There’s a lot of space to expand and a lot of stuff to catalog. I think it could take the rest of our lives and then some to get that place organized.”

Sam laughed, relief making it sound a little mad. “You never really struck me as the librarian type, Dean. But it’s nice to be surprised every now and then.”

Smiling, then wincing as Dean felt his split lip tear a little again, “I refuse to wear the little half-glasses on a chain, no matter how blind I go.”

There was no answering frivolity, however, and Dean turned to see a pensive Sam rock-still. “I don’t know if I’m ready to give up hunting, Dean.” 

Dean walked back to Sam, clapped him on the shoulder and got Sam to move along the route he had followed into the woods. “That’s okay. I’m not going to stop you. I’ll be back at the Bunker, researching or whatever shit you need. Cas can watch your back.”

“You researching. Never thought I’d see the day.” Sam stopped and forced Dean to pause. “You’re gonna have time to do research while taking care of five kids?”

Dean scowled. “Who said I was taking care of those kids?”

“You brought it up first, Dean,” Sam frowned. “And I know you. That’s your plan, if they need you. If you’re not hunting, you’re still saving people. Plus, you do an okay job raising kids. Look at me, after all!”

Dean pulled Sam’s face down to rest their foreheads together. “First kid’s always the test case. Next ones will turn out even better.”

Sam shoved Dean off, feeling their world shift but not unpleasantly so. Dean had not been happy in so long—going through the motions, giving it 110%, but never quite letting the joy of victory reach his eyes. “Dean the Nanny. God, it’s like a bad Disney sitcom.”

Dean punched him hard on the shoulder, and Sam shot back Bitch Face #17. 

 

S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C…

Castiel was waiting by the dying fires, leaning against the Impala. “Dean. Sam,” he greeted them. 

Sam motioned down to the flames, popping the trunk to pull out a shovel, holy water, and salt before heading down to the almost-extinguished pyres. 

Dean leaned next to Cas on the Impala and waved off the healing hand headed his way. Dean was alive, and there were more important things to deal with currently. “How are the kids doing?” he asked.

Blue pierced him as Cas answered. “As well as to be expected. They are in mourning, and fearful.”

“Why are they afraid?” Dean asked, probing. 

“They have no family, not that they know well enough to ‘show up on their doorstep unannounced to live with them’, according to the eldest boy, Colton. Their parents’ were hunters, just as yours.” Cas rubbed his neck nervously, a habit he had picked up from Dean. “They do not know how they are going to survive. Foster care will split the siblings up, which Rose—the red haired girl—does not want.”

Dean studied the group, noting how close the children stood next to each other, how they interacted. “How old are they?”

“Rose is 11. The baby, Petie, is 10 months old. The toddler is 2, and named Jerry, short for Jeremiah. Colton is the oldest at 16 and Morgan, the older girl, is 14.” Cas sighed deeply. “Morgan reminds me of Claire.”

Dean could see the physical resemblance, even if it was passing. “What are we going to do with them?”

“The other hunters volunteered to take them to family, which is how I now know they have none.” Castiel crossed his arms, unconsciously mimicking Dean’s pose. “I suppose we will have to turn them over to Children’s Services—at least the younger ones. I don’t like letting any of them go live on the streets on their own, but I don’t know what else to do with them.”

“Now that this is all over with, what do YOU want to do, Cas?” Dean asked.

Looking nervous, shifting away from the Impala and beginning to pace, Cas was silent for several long minutes. “I’m not sure. I hadn’t thought past the final battle with Amara. I hope she is the last massive evil we ever have to deal with—but I know lesser creatures are still loose. I assumed you and Sam would return to hunting, and I could help you with that. Heaven is—not home for me anymore.”

“If you stay here, will you Fall? Become human?” Dean asked, his voice uneven and breathy. 

“I’ve Fallen several times at this point, so I don’t really care,” Cas shrugged. “I just don’t feel that what I do up there will matter. Earth, this is where anything that happens will happen now.” Cas turned to level one of his lingering, emotional stares at Dean. “Do you want me to return to Heaven?”

“No!” Dean practically shouted before he realized he had spoken. “No,” he said more quietly, “I don’t want you up there with those bags of dicks. I want you here with us—with me.”

Cas cocked his head to the side, his usual squinty-eyed look of confusion slightly less squinty eyed as he studied Dean’s face. “You want me to stay here, on Earth, at the bunker?”

“Yes,” Dean nodded. “With me.”

“With you?” Cas asked. “What does that mean?”

Dean stepped quickly and with purpose to Castiel and seized Castiel’s right hand in his. “I mean that I love you, and I want to build a life here with you.”

The gasp that came out of Cas make Dean smile.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean shrugged. “Finally got my head outta my ass. Fifth-- or is it sixth?—apocalypse was the charm.”

Cas wrapped his free hand around Dean’s neck and pulled him in for a ferocious kiss, not caring who was around and saw it. “Fifth. It was the fifth,” Cas murmured against Dean’s mouth, leaning his forehead against Dean’s and wrapping strong arms around him. “I’ve loved you forever, Dean.”

Dean smiled, eyes fluttering open to meet Cas’s blue ones. “Will you move in with us at the Bunker?”

“Us?” Cas asked, squinty eyes puzzled. He had made it clear that he expected Sam to be there, too, already. 

“Well,” Dean pulled back, his hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Sam will be there, of course. But I was also thinking that those hunter kids…might be better off with us than with Social Services. We have a lot of room, we understand how they were raised…what do you say?”

Cas blinked a few times. “Of course, Dean.”

Dean nodded firmly and quickly. “Good. Go help Sammy and I’ll talk to the kids. I’ll explain that we are taking them with us for a few days, let them see the place before they decide if they want to stay.”

Cas’s smile was blinding. He reached for Dean’s hand, pulling him down the gentle incline next to the asphalt and heading for the gathered hunters.


	2. Chapter 2

FIC TITLE: The Home for Wayward Children

Author- PTBvisiongrrl

Part- 2/? (I promise nothing else, which is why its marked complete, but ideas are a–brewing.)

Date- 7/5/16

Rating – PG-13/T (at last for now….will clearly warn if it changes)

Pairings/Characters- Sam/Dean brother bond; Dean/Castiel romantic relationship

Word Count- 3,242

Genre- Angst, Family

Warnings- Spoilers- AU for end of Season 11. I had already written this before the finale.

Disclaimers- Unfortunately, I don't own any of these characters, and make absolutely no profit from taking them out to play…so please don't sue me. If I did own them, there would be a lot more shirtless Winchesters and Angels of the Lord getting some on the show!

Summary-

At 39, Dean has taken more hits than a NFL quarterback, and his body has begun to feel it. His bones practically grate against each other when he gets up in the morning, and the rain makes him want to ball up into the fetal position until the Tylenol and Jack kick in. But if there isn't hunting, what is there? All there has ever been is hunting things and helping people, the family business. Well, maybe it's time to help other people hunt things and expand the family.

Chapter 2

The hunter caravan making its way across back roads and through ancient motels drew no unusual notice, but Dean kept his eyes open still. All the children had gratefully accepted the offer to stay for a few weeks at the Bunker while figuring out the rest of their lives later. Five kids, one angel, and two hunters required more than the Impala for the trip, however.

No one wanted to leave the dead hunter's vehicles, laden with strange items and illegal weapons, anyway, but it also came down to how many drivers there actually were. Colton had a license—not in his name, but with his picture, so as good as a real one—as did Morgan, although she was not as comfortable driving as Colton was. Petie and Rose's parents' had a large cabbed pick-up truck; the baby's car seat was in the back, and no one wanted to try and put that into another vehicle. Given the distractions of small children, Sam offered to drive it, earning Rose's gratitude and cementing the crush she would no doubt form over the course of the drive. Sam was just too nice and too polite and too smart and altogether too HUNTER not to cause warm feelings in the girl who had just lost her world.

And Sam would be too oblivious to even notice.

Colton decided he would drive himself, in his father's car, and stripped everything supernatural or illegal from his uncle's jeep. There was a decent stack of unused fake credit cards, which Colton turned half of over to Dean in thanks. He would have handed over more, but Dean waved him off. Dean had a feeling that while the other children would settle in, Colton might well take off on his own, and Dean wanted the older teen to be able to take care of himself.

Morgan rode with Cas, who decided to drive her car, and Dean ended up with Jerry strapped into some type of toddler seat in his back seat. The kid reminded him of Sam at that age, all wide eyes and wild hair (no matter what you did to it) and endless questions. Dean found himself turning off Highway to Hell so that he could answer Jerry's endless stream of chatter.

Given the size of kids' bladders and bellies, there were frequent stops the first day of the drive—which was actually only 6 hours of actual driving, given all the stops. When they pulled into the first motel with a pool after dinner at a diner—what an experience that was, and how LONG it took for food to be made for a party of 8! —Dean found himself pretty fucking tired. From the looks of the other adults, they all were. Herding children into the pool for a quick dip—easier than showers, though not nearly as effective—and then settling them all in for the night was all Dean had energy for.

Or so he thought.

Until Cas took his turn in the shower, and came out wrapped in a towel and dripping all over.

Just as Dean leered and started to make a sexual comment, the door between his and Cas's room and the littlest of the self-mobile kids popped open, killing the words before they left Dean's mouth.

Jerry, thumb partially in mouth and night time pull up hanging full, called "'ean?" from the shadowed space between door and door jamb.

Dean kept an audible sigh from escaping, the aches in his bones multiplying as he sat up and answered. "Yeah, kiddo, what do you need?"

"The bafroom is dark."

Dean bit his lip, struggling to find the right response in his memory. "Did you turn the light on?" he settled on.

"M too shorty," Jerry answered, his eyes watering.

Dean got up and met Jerry at the door. "Let's just put the light on and leave it on for the night then, K?"

Jerry bit his lip around his thumb, his toddler-nerves absolutely adorable. "I'm afraid."

Dean carefully got down on his knees and scrunched down to Jerry's height (not an easy feat for the 6' 1" injured hunter, to say the least). "It's okay to be afraid. Would you rather sleep in here with me and Cas?" Dean looked to Cas, hoping the angel wouldn't mind sharing their bed.

Dean shouldn't have worried. Cas's blue eyes were warm and wet at Jerry's words and obvious unhappiness. "There is plenty of room. I promise not to roll over on you in the night, Jerry," Cas solemnly promised.

Jerry nodded. "T'ank you, yes. I wanna stay with yous."

Dean felt his heart melt a little bit more. These kids struck a chord within his heart already, a shared fucked-up-ness to their upbringing that he wanted to try and balance with some stability and normality. Well, as normal as Winchesters could be. "Let's get you a new Pull Up and tucked in, then."

Dean took Jerry to the bathroom, helping him clamor up onto the toilet seat and sit down (potty-training was going to be a priority, Dean immediately decided). The other three children in the room—Sam and Colton were in a third—were out cold, and Dean tried to be as quiet as possible while he searched for another Pull Up. These kids were hunters' kids, though, and Morgan rose up sleepily from her bed with a knife in her hand, aimed at Dean. "What is it?"

Dean had a moment of fear—he knew his level of knife skills at her age, and was glad she woke up enough to ask BEFORE hurling it at him—before answering. "Need a Pull Up for Jerry."

Flopping back down, she put her knife away and gestured vaguely at the pile of assorted bags in the corner. "They're in the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles back pack. There's only three left."

Dean cursed in his head. They were going to have to stock up on a bunch of shit he probably had no idea they would need. And probably sooner than later. At the speed they were going, it would be at least another day before they got to the Bunker. "Remind me tomorrow," he tossed over his shoulder as he made his way back to Jerry. Finished before Dean, Jerry had climbed down himself and somehow managed to unwind half the toilet paper role.

"What the fu—," Dean started but caught himself. "Here, little man. Let's put this on and stop wasting toilet paper. Did you even need any?" he asked, looking in the bowl to see. "Nope. Not a square. Hey, buddy- Jerry—," Dean tried to get Jerry's attention back, but Jerry was unwinding MORE of the toilet paper. Dean supposed he should be grateful the kid wasn't eating it…

A thought mentally spoken too soon, apparently.

Scooping the little boy up, Dean helped the tyke wash his hands at the sink one-handed while holding him. Dean didn't forget what Sam had been like at that age, but Dean himself had barely been 6. Dean's priorities and knowledge of how to care for kids was much expanded these days, and an adult-sized body made it a shit-ton easier, for sure.

At least, Dean reflected as he climbed into the king size bed Cas was already passed out in, he hoped so.

S & C/D… S & C/D… S & C/D… S & C/D… S & C/D…

Cas woke up to five tiny toes trying to dig out his left eye. Grumbling, he reached up and wrapped his large hand around the offending limb to still it, garnering a startled cry from Jerry. Opening his other, less-threatened eye, Cas realized that it had not been any sort of intent on the toddler's part to blind him.

It was Dean's fault. Because Dean was tickling Jerry, turning the toddler bright pink and gasping before pausing to meet's Cas's gaze. "Morning, Cas," Dean smiled.

"Good morning, Dean," Cas released Jerry's leg and sat up, leaning back against the headboard. "Why are you trying to blind me with a toddler?"

Dean chuckled. "Huh, sorry 'bout that. Got a little carried away when I won the tickle war."

"Tickle war?" Cas inquired, raising an eyebrow. Cas had a feeling that this type of exchange was going to become common place back at the Bunker.

"Jerry and I bet on who would win." Dean shrugged, standing up and taking the toddler with him. "I won, so Jerry here is going to take a shower."

Jerry's smiling laughter over the tickling quickly faded into an adorable pout. "I forgot. I don't wanna."

Dean sighed, deeply. "You have to. You stink, little man. I don't know when you bathed last, but that pool did not do the job well enough—and I wouldn't bathe a dog in that tub. So, shower it is. You agreed. You can't go back on a tickle-won bet."

"No' fair," Jerry muttered, squirming some more.

Cas saw that there was more than toddler mulishness going on here. "What's wrong with a shower?"

A knock at the interior door interrupted the discussion. Dean sat back on the bed and slid under the sheet, covering up the boxers he had slept in. "Cas, shirt," Dean whispered urgently.

Cas shrugged. There was nothing wrong with the human form. He was sufficiently covered by bedding so that nothing inappropriate was exposed, but humored Dean by reaching for one of Dean's shirts and covering up.

"Yeah?" Dean waited to call out until Cas was complying.

The door pushed open slightly, and Rose stood in the doorway, dressed for the day. "Sam called to say he was going out to pick up breakfast."

Sam called? Why did he call…

Oh. Yeah. Cas was sharing his bed. Sam wouldn't have wanted to interrupt. Not that much would be going on with kids next door, with thin motel walls, but the thoughtfulness was nice. "How long ago?"

"Just now," Morgan called out from behind Rose.

"Okay. That means he should be back in a half-hour or so. Everyone up and ready?" Dean asked.

""cept Jerry," Morgan appeared, Petie dressed in clean clothes and, given a smear of rice cereal in her hair, already fed.

"I got him," Dean brushed tickling fingers against Jerry's sensitive side and got him to giggle his agreement. "Jerry is going to take a shower, and then get dressed, and then—," Dean paused dramatically, for Jerry's benefit, "eat."

Jerry still looked mournfully towards the bathroom, like a shower was a jail sentence. "I don' wanna' shower," he stated plaintively again.

Dean shook his head. "Non-negotiable."

Rose started to say something, but then stopped herself. Dean noticed. "Fill me in, Rosie. What's the deal with showers?"

Rose pinked up at the diminutive. "He just doesn't like them, the way the water splashes in his eyes. He cries the entire time he's not fighting like a wild cat."

Jerry looked betrayed at his sister's explanation, and Dean nodded. "Well, that's gonna change from now on, Jerry, got it? It's just a shower. Nothing in there to hurt you."

Rose bit her lip. "My dad used to take him into the shower with him. It was the only way Jerry would settle."

Dean was entirely uncomfortable with that idea. He was already an unrelated adult in charge of them, by his own choice. He was not Jerry's parent. It seemed…creepy, if an outsider looked in on this. But Dean had committed to the idea of taking care of these kids, and known that kids weren't easy.

Studying Rose, Dean frowned. "The only way?"

"Only way he didn't scream his fool head off. And if he has to bathe—these tubs are too gross for tubby tub, Jer," Rose caught her little brother's eye. "Can you please, pretty please, just take a shower without causing a scene?"

Jerry folded in on himself, his bright eyes tearing up and leaking. "I don' wanna take da shower, Roses," he whispered.

Dean's turn to fold. "Okay, little man. I'll get in the shower with you. I can't smell you the whole way home."

Rose looked beyond grateful, and Dean just smiled at her. "Kids," was all he said to her with a wink.

Morgan tapped Rose on the shoulder, pulling her attention away, "Let's get packed up while they shower." Morgan shut the suite door, pulling Rose back into their room.

Dean sighed, picked up Jerry, and made for the bathroom. Tears were already pooling on his shoulder and sniffles echoing in his ear. "It will be alright, little man. All it is water, just little bits of it instead of all at once. I'm sure you just had a bad experience once, and its stuck with you." Putting Jerry down on the closed toilet lid, Dean put toothpaste on and then handed the kid a toothbrush. "Brush first."

Jerry took the toothbrush and scrubbed feebly at his teeth in between swallowing back tears. Dean kept an eye on him to make sure Jerry wouldn't slip or fall while he stripped down to his boxer briefs. "I'm getting in there with you, but you are the one getting clean, with no fussing. We don't want any nosy maids or neighbors coming to see what's the squalling about, okay?"

Jerry held the toothbrush up to Dean to rinse, spit and bubbles running down the brush to Jerry's little fist and dripping onto the tiled floor. "I try."

"You ever hear, 'Do or do not, there is no try'?" Dean asked. "Yoda, this little green man, told that to the greatest Jedi ever, Luke Skywalker— "

Jerry's eyes widened. "You like da Star Wars, too?"

Dean smiled big. This kid really was great. "Yup. Sam, too. Cas hasn't seen all of them yet, though. If we can get out of here at a decent time, we can make it home and maybe watch it tonight. Think you can do that for me?" Dean was never above a bribe to Sam to do what he wanted as a kid. Luckily, Sam was easily persuaded most of the time. Apparently he and Jerry had that in common.

"K. I can do that. No try. Jus' do." Jerry screwed up his little face in preparation. "Shower."

Dean nodded, pulling back the shower curtain and playing with the faucets until the temperature felt warm but not hot. Stepping in, he reached to steady Jerry. "Pull Up off, dude, and no peeing on me, got it?"

Jerry wiggled out of the Pull Up, leaving it on the toilet lid, and nodded with a giggle. "I not pee on you, 'ean."

"Thank you," Dean answered, picking up Jerry and holding him directly in the spray, face away. Once Jerry was thoroughly dampened, which he had soldiered through and eventually not relaxed but at least stopped looking like he was in pain, Dean reached for the soap.

"No soap! No soap, 'ean! You not say soap, too!" Jerry wailed, all thoughts of being brave gone.

Dean stepped back out of the spray, still shielding Jerry's eyes. "Soap is part of a shower, Jer."

"No!" Jerry adamantly yelled. "No soap!"

Dean sighed, deep and regretful. Damn it, he thought it had worked this out. "Jedis use soap, Jer. Can you be a Jedi for me, just for a little bit longer?"

"No! Soap hurts!" Jerry kept his eyes screwed up tight and Dean figured out the issue.

"I won't let any soap get into your eyes, Jerry, but you have to stay calm for me to do that. I promise, no soap in your eyes if you follow my directions." Dean shifted so that he held Jerry in his other arm. "Okay?"

Sniffling again, and opening only one eye to study Dean's face for several long minutes, Jerry nodded once. "K."

Fifteen minutes and an increasingly cool shower later, Jerry was clean, wrapped in a towel, and handed off to Cas so that Dean could shower himself. Cas had raised an eyebrow—again—at Dean's soaked boxer briefs, but wisely said nothing, even as he heard Dean strip the snug material off and drop it into a puddle-pile on the floor clear through the closed door.

Dean let the cool water wash over him, as he scrubbed as quickly as he could before the water turned to ice. At least the water pressure wasn't bad. Toweling off thoroughly and tightly wrapping a towel around before gingerly stepping out into the room—he wasn't sure who might be in there, and uncomfortable traipsing about half-naked like usual if there were kids in his room—he sighed in relief at just Cas sitting at the table with bagels for both of them and steaming cups of coffee.

Dean made his way to his duffle and threw on some clothes. "Thanks for getting me breakfast," he mumbled as he brushed a light kiss on Cas's cheek and sat down to eat.

"I feared that if I did not, there would not be any left for you by the time you were done," Cas chuckled, a shy smile on his lips as he studied Dean.

"More than possible. Samsquatch eats less than those little buggers will," Dean chuckled, scarfing down his food. "First stop before the Bunker—groceries."

Cas bit his lip. Dean could read that the angel was nervous. "Are we really doing this?"

Dean stopped chewing. "You and me? Living at the Bunker together?" Dean's heart froze for a second.

Cas smiled widely. "I know we are doing that. I want to do that. I meant…are we really raising five children?"

Dean actually stopped shoving food in and smiled widely. "Yes. We are. I mean, kids at some point with you was the plan, but they need us, now. And it's not like we can just order up kids or make them the old fashioned way, here." Dean winked at Cas, before pulling a serious face. "Unless you really aren't ready for it yet. They can just stay with us until we find them other places, other hunters, to go live with."

Cas shook his head vehemently. "No, I do not want to send them away. I am just…I am an Angel of the Lord, Dean, not a nanny. You are a natural with kids. Look at how you got Jerry to shower! I just don't know what to do with them."

Dean finished his bagel and sipped his coffee. "Just be you. Treat them with respect that they aren't stupid, and answer their questions honestly. Quite frankly, that's just your default setting," Dean sat up straighter and caught Cas's hand in his on the table top, "But don't be afraid have fun and be silly sometimes. Let them know that you are there if they need you, and still there even if they don't. That's all kids really want."

"Is that how you raised Sam?" Cas inquired, honestly interested. Sam and Dean rarely spoke in any detail or at any length about the good parts of their growing up on the road.

"I tried," Dean answered. "But I didn't have some overall plan. I mean, I was barely five when Dad handed him to me and told me to take care of him. But yeah, I guess that I figured it out along the way."

A heavy knock on the outside door and Sam's teasing, "Are you decent?" ended the discussion.


	3. Chapter 3

FIC TITLE: The Home for Wayward Children  
Author- PTBvisiongrrl   
Part- 3/? (I promise nothing else, which is why its marked complete, but ideas are a–brewing.)  
Date- 7/11/16  
Rating – PG-13/T (at least for now…I will clearly warn if it changes)  
Pairings/Characters- Sam/Dean brother bond; Dean/Castiel romantic relationship  
Word Count- 3424  
Genre- Angst, Family, Romance   
Warnings- Spoilers- AU for Season 11. I had already written this before the finale.   
Disclaimers- Unfortunately, I don’t own any of these characters, and make absolutely no profit from taking them out to play…so please don’t sue me. If I did own them, there would be a lot more shirtless Winchesters and Angels of the Lord getting some on the show!  
Summary-   
At 39, Dean has taken more hits than a NFL quarterback, and his body has begun to feel it. His bones practically grate against each other when he gets up in the morning, and the rain makes him want to ball up into the fetal position until the Tylenol and Jack kick in. But if there isn’t hunting, what is there? All there has ever been is hunting things and helping people, the family business. Well, maybe it’s time to help other people hunt things and expand the family. 

Chapter 3

By the time the caravan had finally made it to the Bunker that night (tiny, tiny bladders and bottomless little bellies, thank you), the three youngest kids were out cold and had to be carried to a bed—in the sole guest bedroom Charlie had made Sam and Dean clean out for her, that Claire used also on her infrequent visits, and where Jody slept instead of Sam’s bed if Chrissy or Claire visited with her. There were no other rooms clean or even vaguely child-safe areas in the Bunker right now, something that would have to be remedied soon. For now, Dean left Cas on baby-sitting duty with Sam as back-up. 

But first, they needed a supply run, which is why Dean and Morgan were pulling into Walmart at midnight on a Tuesday. 

“Don’t let the camera get a good shot of your face, Morgan,” Dean directed as they approached the front door. “Look at the ground, pull up your hood, and slouch.”

Morgan shot Dean a supremely teenage look—not one of ‘you are not my parent and how dare you tell me what to do’ (which Dean feared he might get) but rather a dismissive ‘I’m a teenager, not an idiot.’ But she did it without a testy word, which already made her easier to deal with than Sam as a teenager. Once past the doors, Dean gestured to the carts. “We’ll both need to take one. We need a lot of shit.”

Morgan laughed. “No kidding. What is on the list?”

Dean considered a moment. He would really like to be able to hunker down and get the kids settled for a couple days before having to make another run. That would mean more than just food. “Baby section first. Need diapers, wipes, Pull Ups, and formula.”

“Are you independently wealthy or something?” Morgan asked. “I mean, seriously. Five kids, that’s a big expense.”

Rubbing at the back of his neck nervously, Dean chuckled. “Don’t I wish. I’m just awesome at pool.”

“Just pool? What about poker?” Morgan asked, a light flicking on in her eyes. 

“Mostly pool, but sometimes poker,” Dean smiled at her. “We’ll have to evaluate your skills sometime.”

“Yes!” Morgan pumped her fist in the air. “Daddy said it was a good skill to fall back on, but he never let me play for real much.”

“Well, we’ll do that soon,” Dean was troubled that Morgan seemed to express no sorrow over her father’s absence, but each hunter processed grief their own way. 

“Right now—supply run, baby crap first.” Dean turned his cart and led the way. He didn’t remember diapers coming in such big (or expensive) boxes for Sam, or such little (and expensive) cans of formula. Dean had obviously taken too long deciding, because Morgan spoke up. 

“Do you really know how to take care of a baby?” she asked. Dean was a little freaked out by the lack of attitude in her question, as if she was really worried about his answer. 

“I raised Sam,” Dean answered. “It’s just…been a while.”

“You raised Sam? How the hell old are you?” Morgan snorted. 

Dean stared daggers at her for a minute, muttering not that fucking old to himself before reaching for the biggest box of diapers and sliding in onto the rack beneath the cart. 

“Is that the right size?” Morgan asked, no attitude or judgement in her tone, but Dean was already a little irked. 

“Yes.” He had already checked the size—as well as the type of formula—because he had done this before, thank you very much. He also slid a case of wipes beneath his cart, and then a huge box of Pull-ups under Morgan’s. Straightening up, Dean met Morgan’s eyes. “I know what I’m doing, honestly. Kids are way easier than ghosts and demons.”

Morgan raised an eyebrow in question, but dutifully pushed her cart behind Dean’s when he continued through the baby section, grabbing diaper cream, powder, baby wash, infant pain reliever, and a few bibs. Morgan said nothing, simply following, until they got the regular grocery section. Then it was a simple, “What do we need?”

Dean tore the list in half, and handed half to Morgan. “You are in charge of breakfast stuff. We need enough for 10-12 people, at least two meals. You can spend a hundred and twenty-five bucks. I don’t care what kinds of cereal, but get one box of Cheerios for the little ones. Twenty pounds of potatoes, all the same kind, though the type doesn’t matter. Four gallons of milk, and don’t forget butter.”

Morgan nodded and headed off, while Dean contemplated his half of the list. He had taken the more difficult half—meat, dinners, etc. Breakfast was easy; eggs, bacon, sausage, potatoes, cereal, and milk. Lunch was going to have to be peanut butter and jelly—he hoped none of the kids had a peanut allergy, but since no one had said anything yet, he assumed it would be okay. Having watched the kids put away diner food, Dean knew he was going to have to go with some tried and true Winchester cuisine. 

Spaghetti. Cheap, filling—and easy as crap to make. Which means he also needed sauce, meatballs, and garlic bread. Dean would rather have made his own sauce and mixed his own meatballs, but for right now, until things settled down, frozen would have to do. Same for the garlic bread, even though he would again rather make it himself. Three boxes of spaghetti should be a meal, he estimated, and since the meatballs were small…

Huh, Dean mentally noted. Choosing what to buy, keep to the budget, trying to figure out what the kids would like/eat… This didn’t feel like a chore. He expected to feel some aggravation, a little put-out-ness, to be uncomfortable about domestic duties…but he did not. He thought about the kids, not the cost or time or how tired he currently was after the long day of driving. He felt useful in a deeper way than killing monsters made him feel these days. 

Dean quickly realized, in a calm, detached, accepting part of his brain, that he was already liking this taking care of people thing. 

And this time, grown up, he had chosen it, not had it forced on him—not that he resented Sam for it, rather he resented his dad and his dad’s poor parenting choices. Maybe that was the difference. 

Shaking off his contemplations, Dean looked at the number of meatballs in the bag, quickly tabulated, and reached for three more bags. Four loaves of garlic bread quickly followed. Grabbing three more boxes of pasta would make enough supplies for two full meals, unless he miscalculated, and then he would be glad for the extra supplies.

Dean felt better if there was a cushion of food before he would have to shop again, just in case. He didn’t know if Sammy remembered the hungry days they had sometimes had to endure, when Dad got back from a hunt later than planned, before Dean was old enough to hustle up money on his own to help stretch the budget. If he could help it, Dean certainly did not want these kids to have to go through that on his watch. 

So Dean doubled each meal he was buying, including the hamburgers and buns. There should be enough potatoes to make his own fries in addition to breakfast hash browns. He could only get two cases of water on the bottom of the cart before it was full and hard to maneuver, though, so he compensated by grabbing big canisters of Tang, Kool Aid, and Country Time powder mixes.

Morgan had some room left in her cart when she returned a few minutes later, and Dean tossed (okay, okay, gently placed) the produce on top. Apples, bananas, and grapes would make okay snacks; salad fixings would placate Sam, who would no doubt bitch about the lack of green. And last?

A couple of boxes of cake mix and jars of icing. Pie would be Dean’s preference, but cake would be easier and Jerry could help with making cake easier than pie. 

Dean had calculated the cost of his items in his head as he had filled the cart; as long as Morgan had kept to her budget, they should be okay. Close, but okay. A lifetime of making lean stretch had made it automatic for him. “Kept to under a hundred?”

Morgan indicated negatively with a shake of her head. “Little over. Meat is expensive.”

“How much?” Dean asked, wincing. 

“$15. Sorry,” Morgan looked a little worried. 

“I think we can swing that. There’s an emergency cash stash in the glove box.” Dean handed her his keys. “Only twenty, but it’s enough. Go get it.”

Morgan took off, and Dean tried to figure out what he could put back, if he had to. This was a long way from buying enough Ramen and Mac n’ Cheese for him and Sam to last for a week. It was going to be important to refine these skills, Dean thought as he shook his head. 

An older woman, white hair pulled up into a bun and a long dress neatly ironed (and Dean looked askance at her, wondering why she was shopping at this time of night at her age and whether or not she was some creature he would have to kill) commented, “That’s a lot of food, young man.” 

Dean smiled politely, agreeing. “Got a lot of kids to feed.”

The woman smiled. “I remember shopping like that for my children. Well, my foster children. I never had children of my own. But fostered more than 50 children over the years. Can’t even get them all into my house for a family reunion these days.”

“That’s a lot of kids, alright,” Dean agreed, suddenly feeling a small bit of kinship for the woman but his hunter’s training keeping him from exposing too much. “I just got five. Sister and her husband died suddenly a few days ago, kids are with me now.”

“You really did just get them!” the woman agreed. “I’m sure they are lucky to have you to take care of them. God’s grace, young man. You are commended for stepping in and up.”

Dean felt the blush grow across his cheeks and the tips of his ears burned. “I have a feeling I need them just as much as they need me, right now, but thank you.” The conversation was interrupted by Morgan’s return from the car, twenty clutched in her hand. Dean nodded goodbye to the old lady, taking his cart and heading towards check out, Morgan in tow. “Have a nice night!” he called out over his shoulder. Once the heavy, full carts got rolling, it would take effort to slow or stop them, so Dean kept an eye out on the traffic in front of him. 

Pulling into a checkout lane with fewer people than the others, Dean turned to talk to Morgan as they waited. She was fidgeting, biting her lip, and crossing her arms. Morgan had not looked nervous throughout the time Dean had known her, including when they faced down the Darkness. “What’s the problem, kiddo?” he asked, trying for humor and warmth. 

Morgan turned pink. “I, uh…I forgot something on the list. I gotta run back and get it.”

“What did you forget? I’ll go get it; stay here with the carts—“ 

Dean’s statement was cut off with a loud and firm, though somewhat strangled, “No!”

“Okay?” Dean questioned. 

“I would rather go, please,” Morgan turned and heading towards the pharmacy. “I’ll be right back.”

Dean shrugged, picking up a People magazine to leaf through while he waited. The line might have had the fewest customers—three in in front of Dean—but also had the world’s slowest cashier. Dean hadn’t even started to load the belt yet when Morgan came back, something clutched to her side. He put People back and jerked his head toward the cart. “Put in on top. We got a few minutes.”

Morgan looked him in the eye, then sighed and tossed the box of tampons on top of Dean’s cart. Dean forced himself not to flinch. He had not grown up in a world with women. They were on the fringes, he talked to them (and did more with them if he could), but he didn’t live in close quarters to them, except for Lisa. Lisa had an IUD and never got her period, so Dean had never had to deal with purchasing such products before. He tried not to stumble on words or blush, because this was completely normal, and he didn’t want Morgan to feel embarrassed. 

He had a parent voice going through his head telling him not to react the way he wanted to, like a ten-year old boy yelling “Gross!” So Dean simply nodded and treated the bright pink box of foreignness as if it was no big deal. Shit. He was an authority figure now for two teenage/preteen girls. This was just the beginning of uncomfortable for him. Dean carefully stated, voice as normal as possible, “We’ll keep a grocery shopping list on the fridge. Make sure you add them to the list when you need them.” 

Morgan finally met his eyes and nodded, the pink not quite faded but no longer tomato red. “Okay.”

“Shit,” Dean suddenly slapped his hand against the cart. “Need laundry detergent and fabric softener, soap and such. Hope we have enough for now.”

Morgan’s eyebrows disappeared into the hair falling across her face. “Where would we put it? We have two carts full already!”

“I know, I know,” Dean agreed, shaking his head. “This is going to take some getting used to and better planning.” The line moved a bit, allowing Dean to begin loading the belt. Check out had never taken him so long ever before, and it wasn’t just the slow cashier that made it take over a half-hour. The sheer number of items made putting it back into the cart once in bags impossible. It just didn’t fit. They ended up needing a third cart, which caused another dilemma—Dean was not comfortable leaving a cart already paid for behind while they pushed the first two to the Impala. Dean mentally resolved that by deciding to take the extra one himself while Morgan watched the other two carts. He was so busy trying to play foodstuff Tetris and working out exit strategies that he missed what the cashier said at first. 

“One hundred sixteen and fifty-three cents,” the cashier stated again. 

Even Morgan looked taken aback.

Dean repeated the total back to the cashier, adding, “Are you sure? That’s less than just the baby stuff should be.”

The cashier looked supremely annoyed. “Yes, I am sure. Someone arranged to pay part of your bill for you. What’s left is one hundred sixteen and fifty-three cents.”

Shock made Dean blink a couple more times before answering. “Older lady, long dress, hair up…”

“In a bun, yes. That was Ms. Watson. She does this all the time, at least once a week.” The cashier cracked her gum. “So?”

“Why does she do that?” Dean asked. “How does she do that?”

“She comes from money and has no family left,” the store manager chimed in, coming up behind the cashier. “And she likes to do good. If you want to leave her a thank-you note, I can pass it on to her. But please don’t approach her about it directly.” A pointed glare at the cashier preceded her final words. “She doesn’t like people to know she does it.”

Dean’s warning hackles flattened. If this wasn’t just for them, there was little chance it was any form of attack or cultivation. “Yeah, I’d like that. I’ll have to come back tomorrow to pick some more up, I’ll bring it then,” he peered at the manager’s name tag, “Sally.”

Sally smiled and helped bag the rest of their groceries up while Dean paid. “I’ll be on tomorrow night again. Don is the day manager; he can pass it on as well.”

“Thanks,” Dean nodded, grabbing the last of the bags and studying the three cart issue. 

“Let me help you take this out to your car, sir,” Sally smiled widely at him, “unless you have someone else here to help you?”

Morgan grabbed one cart and just started off, leaving Dean to answer. “Uh, sure, that would be great, thanks.” Dean had to grit his back teeth and swallow back the desire to state he could handle it himself, because he obviously couldn’t, no matter how much he hated asking for help in anything. 

Still smiling, Sally grabbed one of the remaining carts and indicated that Dean should lead the way. She followed in silence, but Dean was still feeling…odd. Again, the battle between ordinary niceness—something he and Sammy had run into very little of in the world they had grown up in—and wariness of ulterior, dark motives. He let niceness win. 

Is this what it’s like, to NOT be a hunter? He briefly wondered, carefully avoiding scratching Baby as he glided his overflowing cart to a stop next to her. Sally followed his lead before studying the car. “Nice!” she admired. “I love muscle cars.”

“67 Chevy Impala,” Dean added. “Got her from my Dad.” He opened the back door, putting in bags and trying to get Sally to leave so that they could open the trunk without any worries. The false bottom was in place and should hide most of what he didn’t want a civilian to see, but he hadn’t had a chance to clean Baby out after this last disastrous hunt and he wasn’t positive Sally wouldn’t see something she shouldn’t. 

Luckily, someone called for Sally over the walkie-talkie at her waist and she had to excuse herself. Dean happily finished loading up Baby and sent Morgan back to the cart corral with the three carts. Dean had started the car up and was just waiting for Morgan to settle in so that he could pull out of his spot. 

“Someone likes you,” Morgan teased when she slid into her seat, clicking on the old-fashioned seatbelt that she wasn’t sure would actually do much to protect her in a crash. 

Dean frowned. “She was just doing her job.”

“You really think that’s what that was?” Morgan asked incredulously. “I mean, I guess not being into chicks might make it harder to tell—“

Dean cut her off right there. “I like chicks.”

“I thought you liked guys. I mean, Castiel--” Morgan questioned, her voice rising at Cas’s name. 

“I love Cas,” Dean stated flatly. It was the first time he had said that out loud to anyone but Cas or Sam. It felt right. It felt fluttery in his chest, his stomach squirmy, his heart beat just a touch faster.

Morgan waited for more explanation, but got impatient when Dean did not continue. “So you’re into guys, and might not pick up on a chick—“

Dean threw his head back and let out a tremendous belly laugh. “I’m not into guys. Well, not really, not anymore. Just Cas. I spent years hitting on any female of appropriate age, and getting away with anything else with them I could.”

It was Morgan’s turn to laugh. “Well, I think Sally is a breed of woman you might not be familiar with. She’s not the one-night stand kind most of you hunters specialize in. She’s looking for a keeper. She’s less into sex with you and more into how you would be as a partner. Like, domestic partner.”

Dean shook his head. “You are only 14 years old. I shouldn’t even be having this conversation with you. How do you know so much about chicks?”

Morgan met Dean’s eyes. “I like guys but I also like girls, too, Dean. Prefer them actually. So I pay attention to things you might not.”

Dean made a face, trying to process. Adult authority figure now, he repeated to himself. Be responsible and all that shit. “I still don’t think you’re right.”

Morgan smiled to herself. “Whatever you think, Dean.”

Dean shoved in an AC/DC tape and turned the volume up to deafening. He was too tired and overwhelmed to talk anymore about this right now. Plus, they had dairy that would spoil if it didn’t get into the fridge soon.


	4. Chapter 4

FIC TITLE: The Home for Wayward Children  
Author- PTBvisiongrrl   
Part- 4/? (I promise nothing else, which is why its marked complete, but ideas are a–brewing.)  
Date- 7/16/16  
Rating – PG-13/T (at least for now…I will clearly warn if it changes)  
Pairings/Characters- Sam/Dean brother bond; Dean/Castiel romantic relationship  
Word Count- 2832  
Genre- Angst, Family, Romance   
Warnings- Spoilers- AU for Season 11. I had already written this before the finale.   
Disclaimers- Unfortunately, I don’t own any of these characters, and make absolutely no profit from taking them out to play…so please don’t sue me. If I did own them, there would be a lot more shirtless Winchesters and Angels of the Lord getting some on the show!  
Summary-   
At 39, Dean has taken more hits than a NFL quarterback, and his body has begun to feel it. His bones practically grate against each other when he gets up in the morning, and the rain makes him want to ball up into the fetal position until the Tylenol and Jack kick in. But if there isn’t hunting, what is there? All there has ever been is hunting things and helping people, the family business. Well, maybe it’s time to help other people hunt things and expand the family. 

 

Chapter 4  
Once back to the Bunker, Dean sent Morgan to get ready for bed and switch out sitting duty with Sam. Her haughty, “Not Cas?” over her shoulder as she made her way out of the garage made Dean sigh as he reached for the milk and eggs first.

Loading up on the bags of cold items, Dean had already gotten to the kitchen and started rearranging the refrigerators to make room in a logical order for the supplies. That meant taking some things out and placing them in the trash, like the bag of mystery items from Taco Bell—which the town did not have, and they had not gotten on this last hunt, so there was no way it would still be good. 

Sam came in to see Dean’s face scrunched up after he opened a plastic soup container and sniffed it. “I didn’t know wonton could go that bad,” Sam laughed. 

“I’m not sure what it started life as,” Dean closed the container lid, “but it smells worse than fresh zombie.” Dean tossed the closed container into the trash as well. “We need to clean and scrub this out before we load it up again. I didn’t think of it before we left, or I would have had Colton do it.”

Sam looked edgy at the mention of Colton. “What, Sam?” Dean immediately demanded. 

“Ah, Colton decided he wanted to go make some money to help out, so he headed to the bar.” Sam shrugged, his broad shoulders and brow ridge wrinkles somehow making him less looming. 

“And you let the sixteen-year old go out to drink and hustle? Seriously, Sam? Did you even try to persuade him to stay home?” Dean’s voice was slowly rising, and he had to stop himself with a deep breath. 

“It’s nothing you and I weren’t doing at sixteen, Dean. Why should I have tried to stop him?” Sam asked.

“Because we are now responsible for him. He shouldn’t have to go do that like we did. We sat home, we might not eat until Dad turned up again. These kids don’t have to go through that.” Dean started pulling out everything from the fridge and setting it on the counter. “Go get me a bucket of bleach water and some rags so I can wipe this out, and then you go find him.”

“I am NOT going to try and get him to come home, Dean. You wouldn’t have like Dad to do that to you at his age, either.” Sam shook his head, and went to fill the bucket from under the sink up, adding extra bleach after looking at some of the items on the counter. 

“I didn’t say make him come home, Samsquatch,” Dean sighed. “He’s old enough to make stupid decisions on his own and learn from them. Just, go watch his back so he doesn’t end up with his ass handed to him in the alley, okay?”

Grumbling, Sam agreed. “But after I help haul all those bags in. Is the trunk full, too?”

“Whole kit and caboodle is packed, Sammy. And that’s just baby crap and a few days of food.” Dean reached for the now full bucket and held a hand out, waiting, for Sam to dig the rags out, too. Once he had them, he started wiping out the fridge shelf by shelf, his back facing Sam. 

Sam took the hint and started hauling, putting his long arms and thick muscles to use. It took him fifteen minutes to get everything into the kitchen, another fifteen to get everything out of bags and organized, and then ten more minutes of hauling baby crap to the kids’ room and putting it away. By that time, Dean had dumped the water and opened all the fridge doors to dry it out faster. 

Sam found Dean studying the inside of what had been, in his opinion, a fairly large fridge pre-five kids, an opinion he was quickly revising. “Do we have a shelf we can move in here to put cans and stuff on?” Dean asked Sam. Sam had explored more corners of the Bunker than Dean had, so he would know.

“Yeah, there’s some shelving that would fit against that wall there. There’s no way we can eat in here anymore, with all these bodies anyway. We’ll just have to make some sort of pantry area.” Sam considered the kitchen area. “We might need a second oven, too. Maybe a dishwasher?”

Dean snorted. “I certainly don’t want to be doing that many dishes by hand. We’ll have to sit and figure out what we need first, find a good deal. I’ve still got a hunk of change left, but there’s shit we couldn’t fit into the carts to get tonight. I gotta go back tomorrow or next day.”

Sam eyed Dean a little suspiciously. “How do you have ANY money left after buying all this?”

“Some old lady paid it forward and took care of most of our bill. Nothing suspicious,” Dean added, seeing Sam’s face start to screw up. “She does it a lot, apparently, according to the cashier and store manager.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about it, but right now, we can’t afford to turn down that much help,” Sam agreed. 

Dean looked at the bags strewn across the table and counter tip. “Okay. I got this now, Sam. Go find Colton.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam nodded and lumbered off towards the garage, keys dangling from his fingers. 

Once Sam shut the door to the garage firmly behind him, Dean settled down to concentrate on squeezing everything into where it needed to be. There would certainly need to be some adjustments, but the kitchen—and Bunker—had been designed for at least 10 people to live here and more to drop in to stay. It just lacked many modern conveniences, like a microwave, dishwasher, or garbage disposal. Those were easy to fix. The problem was that it had also been designed with the idea that there would be a housekeeper who shopped every day or two and prepared fresh meals each day. 

Dean was not Donna Reed, and there was no way he was going to the story every other day and cooking every meal fresh from scratch. But what if there was something going on that the adults couldn’t get home or the kids couldn’t leave the Bunker for a few days? Kids had to eat. Dean was going to cook like a fiend for the next two weeks and get some extra meals made and frozen, just in case. 

Dean was putting away the last of the dry food when Cas made his way to the kitchen. His usual trench coat and tie were missing; his sleeves were rolled up; and he had a HUGE pink stain on his left shoulder. “Dude,” Dean chuckled. “What happened to you?”

“Petie,” Cas answered. 

“Did he puke on you?” Dean asked, wondering what Petie had eaten that was pink enough to stain a shirt like that. 

Cas looked at Dean and dead-pan answered, “No.”

“Bleed on you?” Dean asked, a little more disturbed at that thought but still trying to figure out the situation. 

Cas sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “No. I would have alerted you upon your arrival home if any of the children had been injured on my watch, Dean.”

“I’m not—“ Dean was already exasperated, and more than ready to head to bed for the night. “What did Petie do to you?”

Cas pulled his hands out of his pocket. “He woke up with a fever and I tried to give him medicine for it. He did not like the medicine very much and spit it out at me, three times. I finally allowed Sam to medicate the child and he had no problem.”

“Sam is a big guy compared to Petie,” Dean tried to make Cas feel better about the incident. “I’m sure Petie behaved nicely in case Sam was a giant who might eat him.”

“I do not think so,” Cas answered. “I do not think Petie likes me very much.”

Dean reached in the fridge and pulled out two beers, removing the caps before motioning to Cas to sit down at the table with him. “Petie didn’t like how he was feelin’, and he didn’t like the taste of the medicine. He just got tired of fightin’ by the time Sam got him. Petie likes you just fine.”

“If you say so, Dean-“ Cas looked puzzled and exasperated. “I do not understand humans, and most especially children.” 

“It’ll get better, Cas,” Dean patted Castiel’s arm, taking a swig of beer. “Growing pains, that’s all.” The two sat in companionable silence, with brief questions from Cas about the trip to the store and all the supplies, until the sound of the garage door. At Cas’s raised eyebrow, Dean explained, “Colton and Sam.”

Nodding, Cas stayed seated and sipping his beer. Dean chugged his and rose to get three more out of the fridge. They were running low, if four people were going to be drinking them now. As Sam’s broad shoulders cleared the doorway, Dean tossed a bottle to him without a word, and Sam caught it without a word as well. 

Colton paused in the doorway before entering, his eyes unsure and anxious. He made his way to beside Dean and slapped down an impressive wad of bills on the counter. “I figured we could use some cash.”

Dean picked up the money and flipped through. There wasn’t a bill smaller than a ten, and at least two fifties. “Impressive,” Dean commented, tone neutral. “I’ll keep that in mind for the future. This,” he tapped the cash bundle against Colton’s chest pocket and slid it in, “is yours. You do not have to pay your way.”

Colton’s face immediately clouded over and his teeth gritted. “I want to help.”

Dean nodded to Sam and Cas to get out. Years of working together with unspoken commands meant the other two men got it immediately. Sam cracked his neck. “I’m taking a shower and then bed.”

Cas finished his beer and walked over to the sink to put his bottle in it to be rinsed. As he turned to leave, he put his hand on Dean’s cheek. “I will wait up for you.”

Dean put his own hand on top of Cas’s and gave it a gentle bit of pressure. “You don’t have to, Cas.”

“I know,” was Cas’s only answer. With a goodnight to Colton, Cas headed towards the bedrooms. 

Dean opened another beer and handed it to Colton. “Here. Let’s sit and talk.”

Colton took the beer, warily. “I can drink at 16, but I can’t earn money to pay my way?”

Dean chuckled. “Sit first. Let me tell you a story.”

“Oh, God,” Colton cringed. “Can’t we fast forward through the story with the lesson, and you just tell me what I did wrong and what I shoulda done instead.”

Dean made a face. “Okay. You SHOULDA been a kid and gone to bed. Or stayed up and tried to sneak in some porn or something. But you should not have gone out alone to hustle, no matter how good your game is or how good your fake ID is.”

Colton swallowed more beer. Dean noticed the slight grimace on his face, and determined that Colton was not a beer drinker. Dean watched him do this a couple more times, waiting to see if Colton would speak. When he did not, Dean sighed and started his tale. “First—I am not your father or your uncle. I know that. I don’t want to be, either.”

The look on Colton’s face was an odd mix of worried little kid and pissed off teenager. Colton was still in the gawky, spindly stage of adolescence, not yet a man but not a little boy. As Dean knew first hand, it was a sucky place to be. “I’m here for you. You have a place to live, you have food to eat, you are safe. That much I can guarantee. Stay for a while, and see if it agrees with you. If you really hate it here, I’m not gonna make you stay, Colton.”

The tightness to Colton’s shoulders, the rigid way he had pulled himself up at Dean comments about his father and uncle, relaxed a little. Miniscule amount, really, but enough that Dean could detect it, so he took the opportunity to continue.

“My dad had Sam and I on the road with him hunting from the time I was 4 and Sammy wasn’t even a year old. He left us alone a lot, and not always with enough money to get by. If things got tight, before I looked old enough to make a fake ID work, I did the five finger discount. Got picked up and sent away for it one time. Once I could get into a bar, I never had to steal again. I kept Sam in sneakers and school trips as well as feeding him by the time I was 17.” 

Dean met Colton’s eyes directly. “Along with some thick wads of bills I got the shit kicked out of me pretty regularly until I hit a growth spurt. Still got my ass kicked on occasion, although those occasions were fewer and farther between.”

Colton considered Dean’s words, studying the label on his beer bottle and wiping patterns into the condensation. “I’m careful.”

“I’m sure you are. You’re a hunter,” Dean agreed. “But just because you CAN hustle doesn’t mean you should. Sam and I never had an opportunity to get out of this life, even when we tried to. You can. You don’t have to,” Dean quickly amended at the anger crossing Colton’s face. “But I would like to make sure that you have the chance to do it, if you want to do it. Okay?”

Colton licked his lips. “Are you going to make me go to school, too?”

Dean made a huffed sound as he sucked back a few mouthfuls of his beer. “Not exactly.”

“Shit,” Colton muttered. “I hate school. They don’t teach anything important, nothing useful.”

“I hated school too, kid,” Dean chuckled. “But my dad said I either had to go until I graduated, or get my GED. I got my GED at 16, as soon as I could legally leave school. I would be okay if you want to do that.”

Colton started peeling the beer label. “I was doing cyber school for a while, until my dad died. I could try that again.”

Dean nodded. “We can check that out, too, if you want. I figured I’d take the girls and register them for school next week, give them a little time to settle in here and adjust. Then we’ll figure out your plans. You have a place to stay, here, for as long as you need it. Okay?”

Colton looked a little relieved. “Okay. But I still want to give you some money for food and stuff. I mean, five kids?”

“If I need it, I will ask you to. But I can hustle pool, too, and a few other things you can’t do.” Dean finished his beer. “So don’t count on me having to ask.”

Storm clouds gathered in Colton’s eyes again, and Dean sighed. “Fine. Just this one time, and never again. If you really want to help out, you could take the kids clothes shopping. But that’s it. No room and board, no rent, nothing like that. Got it?”

“So, no hunting, no sharking,” Colton tried testing his limits. “Can I still train?”

“Yes, we will ALL train,” Dean nodded. “Just because the kids are too little to hunt doesn’t mean some big bad nasty won’t try to get them anyway. With a name like Winchester, I have pissed off plenty of monsters who would like a piece of me, and I don’t want any collateral damage.”

Colton turned a little pink as he rose and made his way to the sink. “You guys are legends, you know that, right?”

Dean laughed hard enough to almost exhale his mouthful of beer through his nose. “I’ll keep that in mind, kid.”

Colton downed the rest of his beer with determination on his face. “You didn’t have to help me, to help the others. You could have walked away. As a hunter, I would have. So thank you, for that.”

As usual, Dean shrugged off any indication that what he did was unusual or special. “As a big brother, there was no way I was walking away from you guys. And I was a big brother long before a hunter.”

Colton shook his head and made his way towards bed. “Goodnight, Dean.”

Dean answered with a raised beer bottle, quickly finished, and made his way towards his own bed. And Cas.

That thought put a bit of speed in Dean’s step.


	5. Chapter 5

FIC TITLE: The Home for Wayward Children  
Author- PTBvisiongrrl   
Part- 5/? (I promise nothing else, which is why its marked complete, but ideas are a–brewing.)  
Date- 7/29/16  
Rating – PG-13/T (at least for now…I will clearly warn if it changes)  
Pairings/Characters- Sam/Dean brother bond; Dean/Castiel romantic relationship  
Word Count- 1,983  
Genre- Angst, Family, Romance   
Warnings- Spoilers- AU for Season 11. I had already written this before the finale.   
Disclaimers- Unfortunately, I don’t own any of these characters, and make absolutely no profit from taking them out to play…so please don’t sue me. If I did own them, there would be a lot more shirtless Winchesters and Angels of the Lord getting some on the show!  
Summary-   
At 39, Dean has taken more hits than a NFL quarterback, and his body has begun to feel it. His bones practically grate against each other when he gets up in the morning, and the rain makes him want to ball up into the fetal position until the Tylenol and Jack kick in. But if there isn’t hunting, what is there? All there has ever been is hunting things and helping people, the family business. Well, maybe it’s time to help other people hunt things and expand the family. 

Chapter 5

Dean slowly came to consciousness. There was no warm body next to him in bed; the silence of the bunker currently was broken with the blaring sound of “This little piggie” in high-pitched children’s voices; and his bladder was screaming for him to get up. Pulling his dead guy robe off the back of the door and shrugging into it, making sure it was properly belted and nothing inappropriate was exposed, Dean hustled his way to the bathroom. 

A very irate, female teenage voice greeted the sounds of his relief. “Who’s there?”

Dean jumped a mile. There was a girl in the bathroom with him. A naked girl, in the shower, who was not happy he was there. And neither was he. Shifting a little to keep himself covered, Dean barked, “STAY IN THE SHOWER!”

“Get out of the bathroom!” was shrieked in return. 

Quickly shaking off and flushing, Dean re-belted and got the hell out of there, calling out, “I am!” over his shoulder on the way to his room. Once there, he washed his hands in the cracked sink, studying his face in the mirror and deciding he could go another day before shaving. Dean dressed quickly, muttering to himself the entire time. There was one bathroom in this entire place, and he could tell this was quickly going to become a problem with the new mix of genders.

Fuck. The things you don’t think about ahead of time.

Entering the war room was like entering a war ZONE. Jerry was happily stacking books up as high as he could, before knocking them down. Rosie had moved on from piggies to Peek-A-Boo with Petie; given her continued volume, and the baby’s rising screechy giggles, it really wasn’t an improvement. Sam had his head phones on and was on his laptop, coffee cup in hand, oblivious to any and all chaos around him. Colton was not present, which gave Dean a moment of concern, until a pause in the peek-a-booing allowed him to hear music coming from the kitchen. 

No one had noticed Dean’s presence yet, so he continued on to where there would hopefully be Cas, Colton, and coffee. 

There was Cas, sitting at the table, talking animatedly with Colton about the ways to kill a vindaloo (and Dean did not want to know WHY they were discussing an Indian demon no one in America had ever run into), and—thank Heaven—an almost full urn of coffee. Making his way over to the cups they kept stacked next to the huge Men of Letters coffee urn, Dean downed a full cup before refilling and making his way to the seat next to Cas. “Morning,” he muttered, gravelly and exhausted.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas smiled brightly at him. Colton gave him a head nod.

“Why does Colton need to know how to kill a vindaloo?” Dean asked. 

Colton bit his lip and looked down, studying Dean through his bangs. Colton very strongly reminded Dean of a young Sam in that moment. Shaking his head, Colton answered, “Colton doesn’t need to know. Colton just wanted to know. Talking shop.”

Dean nodded. “Good. I’d rather you not head out to hunt on your own, please.”

“I won’t, Dean, I promise,” Colton answered. Last night seemed to have made an impression on the young man. 

Nodding in acceptance, Dean asked what he really wanted to know. “What time did the kids get up? Did they eat yet?”

“Crack of dawn,” Sam yawned from the doorway, coffee cup in hand making his sudden presence and dark circles make sense. “Like, five or so. They are NOT on a hunter’s time schedule.”

Colton laughed, rising to take Sam’s coffee cup to fill and freeing a spot at the table for him. Dean cringed. “We need to train them to sleep later.”

“We need to cage them, you mean, so that they can’t wake us up or destroy anything,” Sam muttered, sliding into Colton’s empty chair and thunking his head down on the table. “Seriously, I need five, six hours to function.”

Cas patted Sam’s shoulder sympathetically. “I am sorry your room was closer.”

Sam sat back up to accept the full coffee cup Colton presented him with. “No, you aren’t.”

“No, I am not, not really,” Cas conceded. “I am actually rather happy about it.”

Sam downed half the coffee in one go. “I woke up to creepy little eyes staring at me in my sleep from the edge of my bed.”

Dean cracked a smile at that. “Could be worse. Imagine a full-grown angel doing that.” He sipped at coffee and avoided Cas’s glare. “At least no one peed in your bed.”

Sam’s eyes laser focused on Dean and he didn’t say a word. Dean chuckled, “Or did.”

“We need to get them settled into their own rooms today,” Sam stated. “And buy some baby gates. Good, strong ones.”

“I was actually thinking…” Dean started. “Maybe not baby gates, maybe just take the doors down and cut ‘em in half. Put the lock on the bottom, a hook and eye on the top, inside and out. I’d feel a lot better with a stronger barrier than some cheap plastic bars held together with particle board.”

Sam, Cas, and Colton all looked at Dean as if he had three heads. “What?” Dean demanded defensively. “I had plenty of time to think all about this on the drive back. I have a plan. Now, back to my other question—did the kids eat yet?”

Cas pointed toward the drying dishes in the drainer. “Morgan gave them cereal and did the dishes.”

“Good,” Dean stated, then remembered the bathroom incident. “Only part of the plan I forgot about was the bathroom.”

Colton raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“There’s only one with toilets and showers,” Dean frowned. “And teenage girls don’t like sharing with boys.”

“Ah,” Cas nodded. “Maybe we could place a sign on the door to indicate if there is a female in there?”

“Perfect,” Dean agreed. “You are in charge of that. Sammy, Colton, and I will go clear out a few rooms for the kids. Then we’ll bolt all the furniture to the walls so that nothing can get pulled over.”

“What?” Sam asked. 

“Kids climb,” Dean answered. “I’m less worried about them falling than I am about furniture getting pulled down on top of them. So, we bolt it down.”

“Okay,” Sam agreed. “So we are cutting doors in half, and securing furniture. What else do we need to do?”

“Cas, can you keep an ear out for the kids, in case they need something, while rounding up enough bedding for five more beds?” Dean polished off his coffee and got a new one. 

“You can’t put a baby in a bed!” Sam protested. 

“Did with you,” Dean shot back. “But now I know better. We’ll figure out something.”

Morgan chimed in from the doorway. “Its call a pack and play. Like a crib, but portable. There’s one in the car. Forgot about it last night.” She made her way over to the coffee as well. “And we need to come up with a bathroom schedule or something.”

“Already on it. Cas is making a sign for the door. You go in, you turn it and we stay outta your way,” Dean raised an eye brown to Morgan. “Good enough?”

“Yeah,” Morgan blew on her coffee a few times before sipping it. “That’ll work.”

“Okay, then we’re ready to set up rooms,” Sam downed one last cup of coffee before putting the mug into the sink. “I’ll get cleaning stuff.”

Everyone made their way to their particular job, Dean leading to way. Thinking more clearly now that he had both shut-eye and a sufficient amount of caffeine, Dean chose four rooms for the other kids—he let Colton choose his own—at the opposite end of the hall from his and Sam’s rooms. It would give the adults some privacy, but allow them to be in reach of the children at night, if need be. It also put the kids closer to the bathroom, a good thing for nighttime. 

Each room had a double bed, a dresser, a desk, a bookshelf, and a mirrored sink. The closets were small, but functional if you weren’t a clothes horse. Even Dean—who could be a bit of one, now that there was storage space—could share his with Cas and have room to spare. 

Dean took charge of organizing Jerry and Petie’s rooms, while allowing the girls to come arrange their own. Dean shifted Jerry’s furniture so that the bed was in a corner protecting him from falling out on two sides. Dean decided that Jerry didn’t need a desk yet, but another bookshelf would be good as well as a little table and chairs to play at. The other bookshelf was easy—every room had one, so he just traded a desk into another room and took the shelf. Put together, they made a nice playing nook for Jerry and there was plenty of room off to the side if Dean could track down a table and chairs in an appropriate size, later. There was even room for a toy box.

Sam and Dean had never had many toys as kids—hello, no room for that type of clutter in a hunter’s car with two kids and an armory—but Dean planned to make sure Jerry and Petie had cool ones, and a nice place to keep them. Books, too. And if these were their rooms now, they had to be decorated a little bit. The Bunker had been built for stuffy old men and the décor reflected it. Dean wasn’t up for repainting everything or getting “kid” furniture, but maybe some posters or stuff. 

Once the rooms were arranged (Petie’s identical to Jerry’s except for the pack and play pushed up again the bottom of the regular bed and diapering items on top of the dresser/make-shift changing table), Dean got tools out and started bolting dressers and bookshelves into the wall. Once furniture was secured, Dean removed the doors from their hinges with Colton’s help and took them to the garage to cut, sand, and finish. Sam swooped in to clean and Cas replaced bedding; the men were followed by Morgan and Rosie bringing in the kids’ clothes and stuff and putting the items away. 

Most of the work was finished by the time Dean had to start dinner. Although Cas did not let Dean cook. “You worked hard enough already. I can cook.”

Sam’s saucer-eyed reaction to that made Dean laugh. “I think we’ll stick to letting people used to the taste of food cook for a bit. Okay?”

Cas frowned but shrugged. “Fine. Sam can cook.”

Sam’s face got even less happy. “I didn’t volunteer for that!”

“Dean is not cooking. So who is?” Cas demanded. 

Colton volunteered. “I can make spaghetti.”

“There’s also meatballs and garlic bread in there,” Dean added. “Thanks, by the way, Colton.”

“No problem, Dean,” Colton said as he made his way to the kitchen, leaving Cas, Dean, and Sam in the hallway. 

“He’s a nice kid,” Sam said. “He didn’t give me any trouble last night, even before I told him I wasn’t dragging him back here.”

Dean nodded. “I know. That’s why he is NOT hunting and IS going to get his high school diploma. We talked it over last night. He wants to do cyber school again.”

“I’ll get him set up for it tomorrow,” Sam volunteered. Dean was quite happy with that; he didn’t hate technology, but it certainly liked Sam more than him. 

“Alright, Cas, let’s get these doors rehung,” Dean led the way to the garage, where the doors and hardware were waiting. Even with Cas’s limited handyman knowledge, both kids’ doors were back up and additional hook-and-eyes installed by dinner time.


	6. Chapter 6

FIC TITLE: The Home for Wayward Children  
Author- PTBvisiongrrl   
Part- 6/? (I promise nothing else, which is why its marked complete, but ideas are a–brewing.)  
Date- 8/6/16  
Rating – PG-13/T (at least for now…I will clearly warn if it changes)  
Pairings/Characters- Sam/Dean brother bond; Dean/Castiel romantic relationship  
Word Count- 3,917  
Genre- Angst, Family, Romance   
Warnings- Spoilers- AU for Season 11. I had already written this before the finale.   
Disclaimers- Unfortunately, I don’t own any of these characters, and make absolutely no profit from taking them out to play…so please don’t sue me. If I did own them, there would be a lot more shirtless Winchesters and Angels of the Lord getting some on the show!  
Summary-   
At 39, Dean has taken more hits than a NFL quarterback, and his body has begun to feel it. His bones practically grate against each other when he gets up in the morning, and the rain makes him want to ball up into the fetal position until the Tylenol and Jack kick in. But if there isn’t hunting, what is there? All there has ever been is hunting things and helping people, the family business. Well, maybe it’s time to help other people hunt things and expand the family. 

Chapter 6

Dinner was less chaotic than Dean imagined, but obviously still at a level that Sam and Cas would have to adjust to over time. Between requests for more water from Jerry, trying to prevent Petie from dropping food on the floor, and trying to eat himself, Cas looked more frazzled than when he was fighting The Darkness. 

For someone unused to children, Dean considered as he himself cleaned his plate, it was not a surprise. Dean himself preferred danger from physical harm over any other challenges; he couldn’t blame his Angel, unused to his humanity entirely yet, for being thrown by the full-on family-with-kids dinner experience. Sam had been a handful for him, with just four years’ seniority, but even at his worst, ONE Sam had not been equal to the bedlamic disarray of FIVE.

What had he been thinking? Dean berated himself in his internal dialogue. He had barely had a conscious moment alone with Cas, and had spent the day so busy that he had hardly even seen Jerry yet. Drinking his glass of water slowly—trying to set an example for kids by saving beer for later—Dean watched as food disappeared. He had checked the amounts Colton had made, and found that his grocery calculations had been pretty spot on. That meant three days before they would have to shop for food again. 

Once every one had finished (and had seconds, if they wanted), Dean whistled to get everyone’s attention from individual conversations (or staring wildly yet silently around the table in Sam’s case). When he had it, Dean smiled. “Day One seemed to go okay. Everyone happy with their rooms?”

Petie simply played with his spaghetti, amusing himself, but the other children expressed contentment with the arrangements, especially Jerry. “You made me a play spot, ‘ean!”

Dean smiled crookedly back at him. “Yep, little guy. And once we get y’all unpacked, and settled in, we can decorate your rooms.” Dean had already thought that part through. As hunter’s kids, moving around all the time, none of the kids had probably had a room of their own before, much less been able to decorate it. While budgeting was necessary, Dean was determined that the kids would be able to personalize their rooms as soon as possible. He wanted them to feel like the Bunker was a home, not just some way-station until they ended up elsewhere. 

“Can my room be purple?” Rose asked, a light blush forming across her cheeks. 

Dean chuckled. “Eventually, maybe a couple months, we’ll paint. For now, how about some posters and rugs?”

Rose smiled. “Okay. Can my rug be purple?”

Smiling, Dean agreed. “Yes, we can find you a purple rug. What about you, Morgan? What color do you want?”

Morgan shrugged. “I’m not that particular. I actually kinda like the gray color going on right now.”

“Jerry?” Dean asked. “What do you want for your room?”

Jerry’s eyes got big. “Star Wars? Can we do Star Wars?”

Sam and Cas smiled wide at Jerry’s enthusiasm. “Absolutely, little dude,” Sam ruffled Jerry’s hair, a geek-boy bond already evident. 

“One advantage of an underground bunker is that we don’t need to worry about curtains,” Cas chimed in. 

Dean looked at Cas like he had three heads. Even Dean wouldn’t have thought about curtains. “Very true, Cas,” Dean agreed. Rising, he scraped his plate and put it on the counter, along with his glass. Leaning against the edge, arms crossed, Dean leveled a more serious look around the room. “Next thing on the agenda—chores. There is no maid here. Everybody will have to pitch in and help out. Cooking, dishes, laundry, cleaning—all of it. I would prefer to rotate the chores so no one is stuck with something they hate all the time.”

There was a chorus of agreement from Sam, Cas, and the older children. Dean smiled. “Okay. Colton cooked, so he doesn’t have to do dishes. Even if we get a dishwasher, its going to be a two-person job with this many people, plus pots and pans and such, after breakfast and dinner. Morgan already did breakfast cooking and dishes. So Rosie, you and Sam are doing dishes tonight.”

Sam looked offended until Dean raised an eyebrow at him. “Problem with that, Sammy? Because there are other chores on offer for tonight. Like laundry. I was going to take care of it, but I’ll switch with you.”

Bitch Face #17 passed quickly over Sam’s face, until he thought about it. He really hated laundry, so dishes with a helper was a good trade. “Okay.”

“I thought so,” Dean smirked. “I don’t think we’re going to be able to do much laundry until we get some more detergent and stuff, but I’ll do what I can. Everyone is going to get a laundry basket for their room, and if you want your laundry done for you, you put it in the hall on laundry days, which will be…”

“Today is Wednesday,” Colton stepped in. “And with this many of us, we’re gonna have to do a helluva lot of sheets and towels and such. Maybe we should do some every day?”

Dean considered. “That might be a good idea. Especially since I have no idea how much clothes you guys have. Sam and I never had that many, living out of a duffle bag. We did wash pretty much every week. How many days can you go?”

Colton shrugged. “If you want clean clothes every day, a week max. If you want clothes without blood and tears? Four days.”

Rosie agreed with a week, as did Morgan, who added, “But if you want clothes appropriate for school, clean every day and not torn or anything, four days or so. I could stretch it with leggings and sweatshirts, but only in the cold.”

Looking at Rosie, Dean asked, “What about Jerry and Petie?”

Rosie laughed. “Petie? Baby has been through all his clean stuff, as well as some rewears, already. Jerry has about a week’s worth, if he doesn’t need to change more than once a day.”

“So clothes shopping is added to our to-do list,” Dean sighed. “Everyone needs one week of clean, presentable clothing. What about shoes?”

All the kids had a pair of good boots and a pair of sneakers, except for Petie, who didn’t need any yet, and Jerry, who only had sneakers. Dean deemed that sufficient. The two little ones would also need jackets and hats, plus mittens, once true winter hit, but would be okay for now. 

“Okay, so cleaning the kitchen, bathroom, and common areas…twice a week, given how much they will be used.” Dean tried to think further ahead, but he was pretty much at his planning limit. 

“We’re going to need a chore chart,” Cas chimed in. 

Dean looked at him as if his three heads had sprouted babies. “Chore chart?”

Cas smiled at him. “Yes. We used one at the Gas N Sip to keep track of whose turn it was to complete each task. The days are listed across the top—“

Dean cut Cas off gently. “I got it. That sounds like a good idea. We’ll get that done ASAP. We’re also going to need to keep track of what supplies we used up and what we need to buy. And if anyone has a particular item preference—like shampoo,” Dean glared at Sam, who glared back. “I want to try and build up some just-in-case stock, but we’re going to have to do checklists or something. Like, if you use the last of the bread, check it off so we know we have to get some.”

“If we are going to take turns cooking, we’re going to need to know what we have to make, so we have enough and what we need for it,” Morgan added. “I mean, I don’t mind cooking, but I’d rather you told me what I was supposed to make instead of me trying to figure it out.” Colton agreed, as did Cas. 

“I will need to be instructed on cooking for a while, Dean,” Cas added, seriously. “If it is not a burrito in a microwave, I will be in trouble.”

“And that comes down to, what will everybody eat?” Dean sighed. Sam had been a picky eater, mouthing-off-wise (he would complain, loudly, about his choices), but he would eat whatever was put in front of him because he knew there wouldn’t be anything else in its place. But that had been with ONE kid….if they were all like that, Dean would be pulling his hair out. 

Sam rose from his seat and went to rifle through the junk drawer, pulling out paper and a pen. “Let’s make this easy and write it down as we go. If you really have objections to a food, say so, but for the most part—“

“We’re on a budget, and if you don’t want Ramen noodles and frozen peas every day, we all might have to be flexible,” Dean interrupted.

“So that means you’ll eat broccoli when I make it, Dean?” Sam raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes, Sam, I will eat vegetables,” Dean grudgingly agreed. Sam was slightly taken aback. The old Dean would have refused. Daddy-Dean obviously wanted to get the kids to eat veggies, and knew he had to do it, too. “Pasta is cheap, hence tonight and tomorrow night’s dinner,” Dean added. “Meatloaf with mashed potatoes is good. Mexican, like enchiladas, are easy and can make a lot at once. Pot pie is easy and can feed a big group.”

“Lasagna is easy and makes a ton,” Morgan added. “I like making lasagna.”

“Added to the list,” Sam said. “That’s five meals.”

Colton looked a little green, but added, “Tuna casserole? Cheap, easy, can be made in a big batch…” he let his voice trail off. 

“True,” Dean agreed. “And we have a couple crock pots, so we can make soups and stews, too.”

“Firecracker chicken!” Rosie shouted. “My mom used to make it when we had an oven in our room. Its like real Chinese food, spicy and with rice.”

“We’ll look that recipe up,” Sam wrote. “That’s eight meals so far. Good enough start, Dean?”

“Yup,” Dean pushed off the counter. “Cas and I’ll take Jerry for bathtime—and Petie, too,” he added after looking at the baby with spaghetti hanging off his ear. “After dishes, everybody put your wash outside your door and I’ll get it sorted and started.” Picking up Petie and holding him out at arms-length, Dean nodded to Jerry and Cas to follow him, leaving the others to their chores. 

 

The Men of Letters were 1950s men, not women and not girly-men, so there wasn’t a real tub to be had in the Bunker. There was a big, deep, metal tub that just allowed Sam to sit in it with his legs extended, the kind used in football locker rooms and training facilities to ice down muscle tears and joint injuries. There was no way Petie could be comfortably bathed in it (even Sam’s gorilla long arms would struggle to hold him safely due to the high sides), and it could only be filled up with a couple inches of water for Jerry. 

Cas, having taken the food-covered baby from Dean to allow Dean to run the bath, looked around the room. “Where do we put Petie?” he asked plaintively, trying to keep spaghetti bits and sauce away from his clothing. 

Dean bit his lip. There were sinks in here, but they weren’t close to the tub. “Gonna have to use the sink for him until he’s bigger. I’m scared to put him into that thing,” he nodded at the tub. “Let me take him, and you keep an eye on Jerry.”

The speed with which Dean found himself in possession of a squirmy baby reinforced the wisdom of that choice. “Jer?” Dean looked the little boy in the eye. “You can play in the tub a little while I bath Petie over here, but then we are going to wash you with soap. I got baby soap that won’t sting your eyes, okay?”

“Not a baby,” Jerry pouted. 

“No, you aren’t. But the only soap that won’t sting you is baby soap. Can you keep your eyes closed so I can use regular soap, or do you want to use baby soap? We’ll have to wash your hair, too, with it.” Dean began to undress Petie on the counter, letting the water run until he was happy with the temperature before placing the plug in the sink. 

Jerry looked darkly rebellious, but didn’t say a word. 

“Jerry?” Dean asked, his tone mild but warning. He fully expected a major meltdown, and was prepared when Jerry shook his head and stomped his foot, yelling, “No!”

Cas covered his ears at the high-pitched echo coming from the tiled walls, and looked desperately at Dean as if to say, What now?

“If you won’t let me use soap, I’m going to have to wash you off in the shower,” Dean stated, voice calm and patient. “So you have three choices—tub with real soap, tub with baby soap, or shower with me with real soap.”

“Not a choice,” Jerry whined. “Its all soap!”

“Because in order for you to be clean, and after that spaghetti you have to get clean, you have to use soap,” Dean restated, turning his attention to washing the baby in the sink, realizing that one child at a time might be the bath-time max for a bit. 

Cas raised his eyebrow. “I could-“ he angel-motioned a snap of his fingers. While he was on Earth now, and would eventually lose his Grace and become human, he was not yet human and there were alternatives. 

Dean shook his head no, meeting Cas’s eyes. No reason to use up his limited Grace on baths, and Jerry was going to have to learn this anyway. “There are three choices. Just because you don’t like them doesn’t mean they aren’t choices, Jer.”

The little boy plopped himself down on his butt in the water, arms crossed. “Baby soap,” he pouted. “But I NOT a baby.”

“No, Jerry, you are NOT a baby,” Cas agreed. “But baby soap is gentle and will not sting. When I was human before, that is the soap I used until I was used to hygiene standards.” Cas looked to Dean for approval at his words.

Dean wasn’t sure it was the truth, but as he well knew, sometimes a little white lie was needed to convince a kid of what was good for him. Dean had certainly told his fair share to Sam in trying to save him from the horrors of hunting. “So baby soap is adult-angel approved. Does that make you feel better about it, Jerry?”

Jerry was busy staring at Cas as if to evaluate the truth of the statement. “Said okay already.”

Dean deftly rinsed the soap off of the baby, and leaned Petie back to cup water over his hair. Dean impressed himself when he managed not to get any in Petie’s eyes, until he say Petie had managed to grab the soapy washcloth and put it in his mouth. The soap taste didn’t seem to bother him, but Dean carefully removed it anyway. Petie was less than thrilled and made it verbally known. Cas startled at the echoing wail, the tiled room making it sound much louder than it actually was. Dean smiled and reassured his angel that Petie was just fine. Wiping the soapy cloth over Petie’s peach fuzz, Dean quickly rinsed him and wrapped him up in a thick towel. “Here, Cas, just hold him and keep him covered for now.”

Looking like he was handed a time-bomb, Cas took the baby reluctantly but immediately began rocking Petie and cooing to him in some sing-song foreign language that Dean didn’t know. Or at least that’s what Dean assumed the strange sounds coming from Cas were. 

“Okay, Jerry—first thing is you gotta get all wet. So can you lay down in the water and splash around some?” Dean asked, trying to put the tense toddler more at ease. 

Jerry quickly complied with the splashing, getting Dean’s face full on. Jerry laughed, and after a moment, so did Dean. “Okay. Can we try the laying down? Get your hair wet?”

Again, Jerry quickly complied, but did it so quickly that his hair barely got dampened. “Once more, little dude, okay?” Dean prodded. A second dunk was more successful, although that was where help ended. As soon as a washcloth and baby soap appeared over the edge of the tub, Jerry turned into a stiff action figure. Dean had to bend and turn him to wash him, and Jerry sulked. Deciding that Jerry not fighting him was more important than Jerry being less sulky, Dean quickly had him clean and the plug pulled. Once the water drained, Jerry stood up to accept a towel and a lift out of the tub onto the cool floor. 

Toweling as much water off Jerry as he could, Dean wrapped the damp towel around him and led Jerry back to his room, Cas following. “Jerry, can you put on some pjs while we get Petie dressed?” Dean put a pull up on the bed and picked out a clean set of pajamas to put next to it. Gathering up the dirty clothes he could find, he stopped to drop them outside the door. 

Jerry had already stepped into the Pull-Up, beginning the process, by the time Dean had turned back to him. “Yes, ‘ean.”

Dean smiled. “Thank you, buddy. Come into Petie’s room when you’re finished and we’ll read a couple books there before bed, okay?”

At the mention of books, Jerry’s good nature and smile were back. “Yeah! Story time!”

“Okay, Jer.” Dean left the little boy with the door not quite closed and motioned Cas towards the baby’s room. Once inside, Dean took Petie from Cas and laid him down on the top of the dresser while reaching for a diaper. 

Cas peeked closely over Dean’s shoulder, studying Dean’s experienced effort. Dean didn’t need to be told to cover up the boy’s penis while changing him (it had taken Cas getting peed on twice before he learned), and he did not have to resituate the tabs looser or tighter once finished. Cas marveled at Dean’s easy acceptance of the parenting role, and his skill at the thousand and one little things Cas had never really thought about before dealing with a baby. 

Dean talked gently to the baby while snapping up his onesie, which had seen better days but was the cleanest that he could currently find. “Cas, can you gather all of Petie’s clothes and toss it out next to the door? Everything needs to be washed,” Dean asked as he picked the baby up and settled on the bed with him. 

As Cas leaned out to deposit the wash, Jerry made his adorable way in. Thumb was yet again firmly in his mouth, a book clasped in his other hand, and he had indeed dressed himself. His bottoms were inside-out, and the top backwards. Cas started to open his mouth but closed it. If the little boy didn’t see uncomfortable, he wasn’t going to embarrass or shame him by mentioning it. Dean seemed to like that tactic, as he didn’t correct the boy either. 

“Hey there, Jerry,” Dean motioned to the side of the bed empty next to him. “Do you want me or Cas to read to you?”

Jerry looked back and forth between both men, seeing Petie on Dean’s chest with his eyes almost closed, and pointed to Cas with the book. 

Cas looked overjoyed that the little boy picked him. Smiling widely, he took the book from Jerry, sat next to Dean, and motioned for Jerry to climb up into his lap. Once Jerry was settled, Cas studied the cover of the book. “The Very Hungry Caterpillar. This sounds like a very good book. Caterpillars are very cute and turn into beautiful—“

Dean coughed to cut Cas off. “Just read the book, Cas.”

Looking a little disconcerted, but following Dean’s directions, Cas cracked the book open and began reading. Jerry liked reciting the list of food the caterpillar had eaten, and clapped his hands with joy when he turned into a butterfly. Cas read animatedly, and with close attention, as he had not read this book before and found it delightful. It helped teach basic facts of one of his Father’s most beautiful creations (after bees, of course) in a fun and entertaining way—and Cas now understood why Dean had told him to stop talking and read. “I liked that story very much, Jerry. Thank you for choosing such a good book.”

Jerry smiled at Cas around his thumb. “I like it, too, Cas. Specially the eating pages. You read good.”

“Thank you for the compliment, Jerry,” Cas was thrilled at this little bonding experience. “Do you have other books by this author?”

Jerry looked at Cas with big eyes, and Cas realized that his question confused the boy. “What other books do you have, Jerry?” Cas rephrased.

Sliding off of Cas’s lap, Jerry tugged Cas up off the bed and led him wordlessly to his room and the very small pile of books on the shelf. Dean stayed behind, making sure Petie would lay down and sleep. 

Jerry pulled another book, this one thick cardboard, entitled, Good Night, Moon, and handed it to Cas. “Like this one, too.”

Cas took the book. “Would you like me to read you this one, too?”

Jerry nodded enthusiastically, clambering onto his bed and under his blanket. Cas sat beside the little boy, and began reading. The simple charm of the book, with its cute illustrations, again enchanted Cas. The book was just finished, and Jerry’s eyes fighting to stay open, when Dean peeked in from the doorway. 

Dean’s heart felt full, and his pulse quickened at the picture Cas made, reading to the little boy all tucked in. Dean didn’t think the moment could be more perfect, until Cas carefully rose, closed and placed the book on the nightstand, and then—brushed a gentle kiss on Jerry’s forehead and whispered, “Sweet dreams.”

Cas caught the look on Dean’s face as he made his way out of the room, turning off the light switch as he exited. Dean locked the bottom half of the door, leaving the top open to allow light from the hallway until they got him a nightlight. Catching Cas in his arms, Dean pulled him tight and buried his face into the angel’s neck. “You are so adorable,” he muttered into Cas’s skin. 

Cas hugged him back tightly, reluctant to let go, but very much wanting to retreat for the night with Dean to their room. “We need to get wash started before bed.”

Dean sighed a moment later and released Cas. “Yeah, yeah we do. Let’s get this done as quickly as possible.”

Cas raised an eyebrow and fingers poised to snap. Dean wrapped his own hand around to prevent Cas from completing the motion. “The regular way. Gotta work out a system for this much wash.” 

Cas sighed back at Dean. “Very well. But I want extra cuddling.”

Dean smiled widely, scooping up clothing from the floor and heading towards the washer. “You got it.”


	7. Chapter 7

FIC TITLE: The Home for Wayward Children  
Author- PTBvisiongrrl  
Part- 7/? (I promise nothing else, which is why its marked complete, but ideas are a–brewing.)  
Date- 8/20/16  
Rating – PG-13/T (at least for now…I will clearly warn if it changes)  
Pairings/Characters- Sam/Dean brother bond; Dean/Castiel romantic relationship  
Word Count- 2,105  
Genre- Angst, Family, Romance  
Warnings- Spoilers- AU for Season 11. I had already written this before the finale.  
Disclaimers- Unfortunately, I don’t own any of these characters, and make absolutely no profit from taking them out to play…so please don’t sue me. If I did own them, there would be a lot more shirtless Winchesters and Angels of the Lord getting some on the show!  
Summary-  
At 39, Dean has taken more hits than a NFL quarterback, and his body has begun to feel it. His bones practically grate against each other when he gets up in the morning, and the rain makes him want to ball up into the fetal position until the Tylenol and Jack kick in. But if there isn’t hunting, what is there? All there has ever been is hunting things and helping people, the family business. Well, maybe it’s time to help other people hunt things and expand the family.

 

Chapter 7

“Dean!!!!” Sam’s exasperated not-quite-yell woke his brother abruptly. It was not a danger-yell, but Dean’s first instinct, even in the safety of the bunker, was to reach for the gun under his pillow.

Which was not there. Because there were kids about, little kids who liked to crawl into bed with him in the middle of the night.

Sitting up, sighing deeply (despite having gotten more than the required four hours, confirmed by a glance at the alarm clock, Dean was still pretty tired after some alone-time with Cas last night, finally), Dean yawned and shoved blankets out of his way. Grabbing a t-shirt to shrug on, jumping into jeans one awkward leg at a time, Dean stumbled into the hallway. “What the hell?”

Sam’s voice echoed from the library, higher children’s voices audible beneath his booming tenor. Making his way to the locus of issues, Dean had to stop and blink a few times himself before responding.

Jerry was sitting on top of a bookshelf, casually stacking small artifacts like blocks. Actually, they were very like blocks—they were small curse boxes, which Dean suddenly couldn’t remember if they had any items in them, and that gave him a mild heart attack on top of the anxiety of sudden waking. “Dude!” he scolded Sam, striding over and snatching the little boy off the tall shelf and carefully extracting the boxes from his toddler grasp. “How did he get up there?”

Sam let out a huge sigh of relief. “I don’t know. One minute he was at the table, next to me, and then he wasn’t…”

“You have to keep your eyes on him, Gigantor,” Dean shook his head, “AT ALL TIMES.”

Cas had followed behind Dean from the bedroom. “That is physically impossible, Dean.”

“I second that,” Sam said, sitting back down at the table, arms crossed.

Dean closed his eyes and held Jerry close. “Jer, why did you climb up the book shelf?”

“The shiny boxes. Dey looked fun.” Jerry smiled. “They stack good.”

“They do stack good, Jer, but they aren’t toys, dude, ‘kay?” Dean went into problem solving mode. “Do you like to play with blocks?”

“Yea! But don’t haf nun no more. Got lef.” Jerry nodded solemnly.

“If we get you some more blocks, can you leave these blocks alone for me?” Dean asked Jerry very seriously. It seemed like another trip to Walmart was going to be scheduled for today, between laundry needs, clothing needs, and toy replacement.

“Yep, ‘ean. I can.” Jerry smiled widely at Dean, and wrapped his arms around Dean’s neck.

“Walmart run for us all, after breakfast and chores,” Dean announced, heading toward the kitchen. “Eggs, bacon, toast, home fries. Give me forty-five.”

Sam’s eyes lit up—Dean had been proven, with a real kitchen and groceries, to be a pretty good cook. “I’ll let the rest of the kids know,” Sam gathered his lap-top and gave Jerry a side-glance before exiting.

S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C…

Breakfast was chaotic but quicker than last night’s dinner, probably due to the promise of a shopping trip. Rosie and Morgan volunteered to do dishes; Colton took care of getting Jerry presentable, and Cas got Petie. That left Sam and Dean time for a quiet cup of coffee at the War Room map table.

Sam studied Dean’s face, Dean’s eyes staring off into the distance and unaware, before speaking. “Thank you.”

Dean refocused on Sam. “For what?” he asked, his voice gruff.

“I know I was only one, but you were barely older than me. Thank you for taking care of me all those years while I was a little shit and Dad was…Dad,” Sam said lowly, emotion tinging his words.

“No choice, Sam. You’re my little brother.” Dean tried to play it off, but Sam wouldn’t let him.

Sam put his coffee cup down. “There was always a choice. You just made it without thinking about the possibilities. What would you have done if you hadn’t had to take care of me?”

“There wasn’t a choice for me, then,” Dean answered. “Just like there isn’t a choice now, with these kids. I couldn’t leave them alone like that. Are you sure you can deal with this? I mean, it’s just been a few days and we have to reorganize our lives totally.”

“I don’t think this is a choice for me, either,” Sam smiled. “I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing, but we’re taking care of these kids together, okay?”

Dean downed the rest of his mug. “Together, then. See if you think the same way after a day of shopping with them.”

Sam drained his own cup. “Fuck. I hate shopping.”

S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C…

Before anyone could leave, planner Dean required lists. He knew how many outfits and clothing items needed to be bought, including sizes, for the youngest three as well as Cas. Dean insisted Cas needed more than the holy tax accountant get-up if he was being a dad—most especially sneakers for running around outside, and at least one pair of his own jeans.

Dean also had personal products figured out, cleaning supplies, and laundry items. The question was, would he have enough money to do it? There were always the credit cards, but he didn’t really want to use them too often, too close to home. That was the way to get caught.

Which lead to another internal dilemma that he, Sam, and Cas would have to discuss later, once children were in bed—they were going to have to get jobs to support the kids’ needs. Given the lack of credentials, the police records, the death certificates for themselves...that was going to require some planning, and at least one visit from Charlie.

Thrift store was the first stop, and it was a successful one. Several toys were acquired cheaply for Jerry and Petie, including a mixed box of worn Star Wars action figures and a small wooden table with chairs at kids’ height, exactly what Dean had wanted. Good thing that they had taken multiple vehicles, Dead had noted to himself. Rosie found a purple bed spread and pillow shams, making her day. Clothing items were slowly sorted, tried on, and purchased for the kids. Coats had been located for the boys, as well as for Cas. And Dean had found several band shirts that fit Cas snuggly, showing off his musculature enough that Dean needed to calm himself.

 

Walmart was more chaotic. Dean sent the girls off to find socks, underwear, a set of blocks, and some bath toys for the boys, complete with budget. Colton and Sam took the list of laundry and personal items, Colton waving off Dean’s budget with a “Remember pool?” Dean found himself and Cas back in the food section, entertaining a baby and a toddler. Well, Cas mostly entertained, because Dean was busy doing rapid calculations in his head. Dean realized that even with that old woman’s generosity, this was going to be tight.

  
With two days of food left, Dean concentrated on grabbing things they would need that were on sale, even if it wasn’t enough to make a complete meal yet. Lasagna noodles were buy one get one, so he bought several. Frozen vegetables (Dean cringed inwardly, even as he gathered large bags up) were also on sale, so Dean picked up the dreaded broccoli, corn, green beans, peas, carrots, and chopped spinach. English muffins had a coupon on the shelf, and would work for ad-hoc garlic bread. Shredded mozzarella was not on sale, but fairly cheap, and would be needed for the lasagna. Same with ricotta and ground meat. Keeping the running total in his head, Dean felt better that he now had two more meals bought.

  
Cas found pasta on sale, and Dean let Jerry pick out the type of pasta, astounded that there was anything BUT spaghetti. That’s why at least one night would be a hodge-podge of penne, farfalle, and macaroni, but that night Dean would have Jerry help him make dinner. He was sure Jerry would get a kick out of many shaped mac-and-cheese.

  
Taking note that, if everyone had stuck to their budgets, Dean smiled that he should be able to swing past an art store and pick up supplies to work on decorating the rest of Jerry and Petie’s rooms. He wanted to paint Rebel and Imperial symbols around the middle of the walls in Jerry’s, and draw some character pictures to hang up. Art had always been something Dean was good at, but had never really had an opportunity to pursue beyond sketching monsters in his journal and drawing sigils. Dean also figured that this way Jerry and Petie could have what they wanted on their walls, since there was no way they were ever going to be able to afford to buy decorating stuff like that.

  
Dean considered that maybe the girls might like something like that in their rooms, once he had finished the boys’ and had some examples to show them. And it had been a long time since he had taken a drawing class, so it might take him a bit to slide back into it. Maybe Cas might want to live model some for Dean…

  
And that was where Dean’s thoughts went to places they shouldn’t, in the middle of a crowded Walmart and with kids around. Shaking his head, he realized that Cas and the boys were already a couple aisles away, near the end of the food and approaching toys His heart quickened, hoping that Cas hadn’t had to handle any requests for toys, because there really wasn’t any more money right now for them…

  
Dean pushed the full cart around a corner, to find Cas chatting away with Mrs. Watson, the pay-it-forward woman from the other day. Dean plastered a smile on, still not entirely comfortable that this woman was on the up-and-up (he couldn’t help but be biased, given his usual experiences) or that he actually needed help. Mrs. Watson met his smile with her own, which seemed genuine. “Hello! I didn’t realize you were all here together. Mr. Castiel and I were just discussing how difficult adjusting to little ones can be, and how Jerry is so helpful in teaching Mr. Castiel how to do so.”

  
Uneasy in his stomach, again, Dean nodded. “That’s our Jerry.”

  
“Do you have that lovely young lady here with you again, too?” Mrs. Watson asked, still smiling.

  
Dean really didn’t understand how anyone could smile that much, much less want to. His face ached just half-heartedly smiling back. And he couldn’t figure out why she was so interested in his family. “Yes, yes I do. She is off in clothes right now somewhere.”

  
Mrs. Watson smiled. “Girls do like their clothes,” she agreed.

  
Castiel’s brow raised, and he corrected the woman. “Oh, no, Morgan is picking out clothes for the little ones.”

  
“How responsible of her! Seems like you are already settling into roles,” Mrs. Watson nodded. “Routine is good. Well, I do need to go, but it was wonderful to run into you again. Good luck!” And as fast as she had appeared, the woman was gone again before Dean could thank her for her generosity (requested anonymity be damned, he hated being in anyone’s debt.)

  
Shaking his head at the old woman’s speed, Dean said, “Time to go find the others, I think.” Cas went along, Jerry’s hand in his and Petie on his hip, looking very dad-like in his button down and slacks. Dean wondered what others thought of the picture the four of them made, crossing the store. Did they look like they belonged together, like a family? Or did something stick out as ‘wrong,’ attracting attention that they did not want?

  
He was still lost in thought when the girls were tracked down, and then Colton and Sam. That was one lesson that his dad had drilled into them, that mattered…but at the same time, left a bitter taste in his mouth. Living under the radar, as all hunters did, meant that you did not attract attention, most especially the kind of attention that would bring police or social workers to the house. The panic he himself felt at the possibility of someone trying to take Jerry or Petie away from him, even when they’d been his less than a week, suddenly made some of his father’s way of doing things more understandable. Not acceptable, not excusable, but definitely more understandable.


	8. Chapter 8

FIC TITLE: The Home for Wayward Children  
Author- PTBvisiongrrl   
Part- 8/? (I promise nothing else, which is why its marked complete, but ideas are a–brewing.)  
Date- 8/21/16  
Rating – PG-13/T (at least for now…I will clearly warn if it changes)  
Pairings/Characters- Sam/Dean brother bond; Dean/Castiel romantic relationship  
Word Count- 2.968  
Genre- Angst, Family, Romance   
Warnings- Spoilers- AU for Season 11. I had already written this before the finale.   
Disclaimers- Unfortunately, I don’t own any of these characters, and make absolutely no profit from taking them out to play…so please don’t sue me. If I did own them, there would be a lot more shirtless Winchesters and Angels of the Lord getting some on the show!  
Summary-   
At 39, Dean has taken more hits than a NFL quarterback, and his body has begun to feel it. His bones practically grate against each other when he gets up in the morning, and the rain makes him want to ball up into the fetal position until the Tylenol and Jack kick in. But if there isn’t hunting, what is there? All there has ever been is hunting things and helping people, the family business. Well, maybe it’s time to help other people hunt things and expand the family. 

 

Chapter 8

Dean studied the card stock template he had made to trace around the midway mark on Jerry’s walls. Rebel symbol next to Imperial symbol, chasing each other around the room, black alternating with red. The paint palette and brushes were on top of Jerry’s dresser, out of reach of both Jerry and Petie, who were quietly stacking blocks up and knocking them down with Storm Trooper figurines. One wall was fully painted; Dean was a third of the way through the second one. 

The bookshelf had some used books from the thrift store on the top, thin spines leaning a bit haphazardly without a solid end to hold them up. Dean had considered pulling out a statue or some such from the main library to use as a bookend, but ultimately decided against it like a good dad (he shuddered a little inside at the thought), just in case an object he thought was safely non-magic was not. Dean decided he’d keep an eye out for something that would work in the meantime. 

The toys on the shelves themselves were organized in small wooden boxes pulled out of deep-storage room duty. Dean had painted a symbol on each box, again one Rebel and one Imperial, to help Jerry keep the toys neat and organized. The blocks had their own box, too, as well as a smaller box that held dollar store army men and another that held a few loose Legos. Dean wanted to fill out that toy shelf as soon as possible, but there was just so much to take care of first. 

S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C…

After the last shopping trip, and the additional stop with Cas to the art supply store, the adults had sat down, at Dean’s request, to discuss their financial situation. Dean deliberately included Colton, but also made it clear that Colton was there so he knew what was going on, not that he was expected to DO anything about it. 

That had been a brief moment of stress, as Colton tried to hold in his anger about the exclusion. “So I can know how bad we’re sinking, but I can’t have a bucket to help bail? What the hell, Dean?”

But Dean reminded Colton of his promise. “You gave to deal with school first. Until you finish your education, you are not allowed to hunt—or work, including sharking. If you make money, it’s your OWN money. You promised. I want you to know what is going on, because we may need your help around the bunker or with the kids, but that’s all.”

Colton had to bite back harsh words, thinking about the wad of money he still had in his room, money that he was not allowed to give to Dean for bills. It took a few minutes of Dean’s even gaze, but Colton finally grudgingly agreed. “Okay.” Because if he really could spend his money on what he wanted, it was going to be one hell of a Christmas around here.

Dean nodded, and Cas squeezed Colton’s shoulder. “We appreciate the offer, really. But it’s the adults’ job to take care of you kids. That means that this is the time for some long term planning, not just cash infusions. Charlie is coming by tomorrow to help us set up legal identities, so we can work, and get the kids registered at school, with medical records, and for health insurance and stuff.”

Sam nodded. “I figured we would have to do that soon. No one is hiring any of us with arrest warrants for murder and fraud out there.”

Colton raised an eyebrow, and Sam shrugged. “Hunter’s life. It happens.” He deliberately did not fill in any details. 

“Once that’s in place, the kids go to school. Well, the oldest three,” Dean looked at Colton again. “And that means someone has to be here at all times. Not necessarily the same person, but at least one adult. We are not pulling a John Winchester and leaving them alone if we can help it.”

Sam quickly agreed. “I’m not ready to say no more hunting, though, Dean. I don’t want to be on the road endlessly, but once in a while, the option to—“

Dean quickly agreed. “I told you, I’m not hunting, but you can. Question is, what jobs can we get in the area that we’re qualified for? We can get fake certification, diplomas, whatever from Charlie. But first, what do we wanna do?”

Sam cracked a smile, a rare enough occurrence that Dean was a little worried. “Legal work, Sam.”

“Absolutely legal,” Sam agreed. “You see, I’ve actually been thinking about this, and I came up with a work-from-home plan.”

Sitting back in his seat, shoulders still slightly tense and a crease tightening between his eyebrows, Dean spread his arms out wide. “Lay it on us, Einstein.”

“We are sitting on a goldmine,” Sam stated.

“Come again?” Dean asked, mirroring Cas’s confused head tilt.

Sam gestured broadly to the library. “We are sitting on a mystic treasure trove, that no one has access to but us.”

“Yes,” Cas agreed. “And for good reason. The power in these books is astounding.”

Nodding in agreement, Sam stated, “Yes. And that power should be available to the people who need it. But this is a super-secret bunker. We don’t want to open our doors up to anyone. But we CAN open the books up to people without having them traipse in and out of here.”

A moment of silence followed Sam’s pronouncement, heavy with expectation. “How, Sam?” Dean finally asked, too impatient to let Sam milk the moment. 

Colton interrupted. “On-line database?”

“Yes,” Sam jumped up. “But not just on-line for people to look through for free, oh no. We charge a monthly subscription service for access. We can do the research for them, find the books they need and scan them. While we take requests, we can work on the rest of the books we think people would want. We can also offer translation services if they need them. For an extra fee, of course.”

“I do not know if I am comfortable with letting this information out, Sam,” Cas looked trouble. “There are many bad things in this library.”

“I know, Cas,” Sam agreed. “But we can control what gets out and what doesn’t. No one knows what we have. They ask, we look, if we don’t want to provide it we can just say we don’t have what they want.” 

Cas continued to look perturbed, but Dean seemed to brighten. “Do you really think that could make money, Sam?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. We don’t need to limit ourselves to hunters. There are plenty of people who just like reading old books, who like the ideas in them but could never afford to buy them. There are also writers who could use us as a research service. Paranormal writing is really popular these days. It’s all about how we advertise. Translation services could be a whole separate entity, if you want. I mean, when it comes to translation, you would probably be able to handle it best, Cas. Even modern languages. You could do that from here for book and web publishers, too.”

Looking less upset, Cas agreed. “Languages are an angel’s gift. I could do that.”

“I’m glad you agreed, Cas. I already found a few jobs for you. Some graduate students at American University want someone to look over and discuss their translations of a Sumerian poem in ancient Persian. They don’t want you to translate it FOR them, but work with them. It’s some Honor Society thing.” Sam pulled his laptop to him and flipped it open. “I set up an email for you already, and forwarded their stuff to you.”

Cas took the laptop, studying the image and words Sam had pulled up. Lost for a bit to the larger group, Dean could tell, so Dean tapped Cas on the shoulder. “Give me ten more minutes before you go wandering around that millenniums-old brain, okay?”

Looking up, Cas agreed. “Ten minutes.”

“Well, looks like we found some things for Cas to do, then. But how much is this really going to make us, Sam? Do we need to find regular jobs in the meantime?” Dean asked.

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Sam shrugged. “At any rate, if we are going to do this, I’ll need Charlie’s help setting it up. But I can start marketing right away, it’s just some social media posting and emailing. See if we get any interest before doing too much work.”

“Go ahead and start that,” Dean said. “And in the meantime, we’ll just find some stuff to sell. Nothing evil or magical,” Dean quickly anticipated Cas’s objections before Cas could actually say anything. “We got some pretty fine old cars in that garage. I’m sure I can tune and shine up one, find a buyer. Near pristine condition, get the motor purring like a kitten…just one or two could pull in as much as or more than some minimum wage job. Just’ll need a fake title.”

Colton perked up. “There are some awesome bikes in there, too, Dean.”

Dean smiled. “And this is something I don’t mind you helping with.”

Just like that, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Although nothing could really be done yet without Charlie’s magic touch, the plan was set. And Dean could spend time doing one of his favorite things in the world—work on old cars. 

S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C…

Morgan and Dean were making a couple of lasagnas to freeze, working side by side at the kitchen table, when Cas wandering in looking for some coffee. “Really, Cas? Its almost 5 PM. Are you sure you can handle that caffeine? I mean, I know, all wave of celestial intent and such…”

The confused look on Morgan’s face was priceless; Cas’s bitch-face was adorable. “I need to concentrate to finish checking this translation…Helena had a really interesting question about the use of future subjunctive tense in a Latin version of the poem and—“

Dean held up his hand. “Forget I asked. Languages are not my forte, and we all know it. You’ll just have to make a new pot or nuke the left overs.”

“What are you translating, Cas?” Morgan asked, curious as she spread another layer of spinach and ricotta in her aluminum pan. “And who is Helena?”

Cas decided to nuke the coffee. “Sam set up a job for me to do some translating with graduate students. Helena is the faculty sponsor for the group…”

Dean’s eyebrow raised. “…at a university several hundred miles away, Dean,” Cas sighed. “Seriously, was that a jealous look?”

“No,” Dean disagreed quickly. “Not at all. You just seem to have really taken to Sam’s translation idea.”

Morgan continued her work, listening in but not interrupting, having learned a long time ago that adults tended to talk more freely when they forgot a child was in the room. 

“It is a good idea,” Cas agreed. “Better than a Gas n’ Sip, that’s for sure. And, given the rates for my time that Sam negotiated, pays much, much better.”

Feeling her chest tighten, Morgan perked her ears even more—being low on money was pretty much a fact of life for hunters, especially those with families. Morgan had learned that lesson early on in life, and was grateful that Dean, Cas, and Sam had taken them in because she knew how hard life would be if the men hadn’t. “I can get a part-time job.”

Dean’s eyes met Morgan’s with a laser focus. “Not necessary. We got this figured out.”

“Even with suddenly five more mouths to fill?” Morgan snorted. “I went shopping with you, Dean. I can tell the numbers crunching you were doing in your head each time. I’ve lived with hunters all my life. Ain’t none of them rich. I know you said you got this, but do you really?”

“Yes, we do.” Dean started assembling his lasagna layers with a bit more force. 

“Well, I’m not a little kid. You can let me know if I need to help out more. I don’t mind,” Morgan stated lowly. She hadn’t meant to upset Dean, really, she just wanted to help. 

Sam entered the room at that point, heading right to the empty coffee maker and frowning. “We got this, Morgan,” Sam stated, having heard enough to know what was going on, before he set up a new pot of coffee to brew. He made a distasteful face at Cas’s mug. 

Morgan finished another noodle layer and ladled out some more sauce on top. “Can you please tell me how? I’m just going to worry, otherwise. It’s just something I do, I can’t help it—” her voice was getting higher as she spoke, her breathing faster. 

Sam recognized the true anxiety in her voice. “C’mere,” Sam motioned to the chair across from where he himself sat down. Ignoring Dean’s murderous look, Sam made Morgan look him in the eye and calm down. “Breathe with me. In, out. In, out.” Sam continued until Morgan could talk. 

The first words out of her mouth were an apology, which was quickly shut down by Sam. Dean, he didn’t realize how bad Sam had suffered with anxiety as a kid, because Sam had hidden it. There really wasn’t anything Dean could do to help it other than what he had done back then—taken care of Sam and reassured him that Dad would be home soon and be okay. “You do not need to apologize, Morgan. We really do have it taken care of. Will it help you to calm down if we explain how to you?”

At her nod, Dean turned back to finishing both lasagnas and sliding them, covered, into the oven. They would freeze the pans when cool, and have a couple of emergency meals ready. Sam took Dean’s return to cooking as permission to explain. “First, the Bunker, and its utilities, are free and clear. They were all up and running when we moved in, and will continue to. It’s how the Bunker was built. We are going to run a couple of web businesses out of the Bunker to help cover the extra bills. Cas is amazing at languages, so he’s doing some translation work. Just a job or two a week is enough to cover a day’s food for us all.”

Morgan swallowed, and nodded. “What about the other six days?”

Sam could see Dean’s shoulders tighten, and knew that it was taking a lot of effort for Dean not to just reassure the girl. Sam knew that explaining details was key to removing some of that anxiety building up. “We are also going to be running a research data base, a monthly subscription service, scanning the resources needed from our library. That will take a little bit to get up and running, but I think it will eventually generate several hundred a month. That’s another two days per week, at least.”

“That leaves four more days,” Morgan said, but she managed to keep her voice rather level. 

“Dean is fixing up one of the old cars from the garage to sell. There’s ten of them out there, and some motorcycles. They are all in great condition, and haven’t really been driven in 60 years. Collectors go crazy for those types of cars. Like, $40,000 per car crazy.” Sam spared a look at Dean, because he hadn’t revealed that researched tidbit yet. “Even just one a year, that’s like 3 more days per week.”

Morgan’s eyes were wide at that. “There’s one more day,” she almost whispered. Sam could tell relief was bleeding through her, tension falling away, and a little moisture gathering in her eyes but not falling. 

“Leftovers,” Dean answered succinctly, pulling the chair next to Morgan closer and wrapping a heavy arm around her shoulders with a squeeze of reassurance. 

“Things really will be okay,” Morgan said. “Really. It’s not just you saying so to keep the kids calm. We really will be alright.” The moisture formed into tears and tracked down her cheeks, which Dean could tell was against her will. 

Cas finally chimed in. “Yes. We adults are going to take care of you.”

Morgan licked her lips and sniffled. “Well, if an angel tells me so,” her humor finding it’s way through emotions. 

“Angels are a bag of dicks, except Cas, so don’t go listening to ANY of them!” Dean spat out, unable to play along with that. 

“Okay,” Morgan laughed. “Only Cas is angel enough to listen to.”

“Damn straight,” Sam agreed, having had enough of angels in his lifetime, and rising from his chair to circle the table and wrap his own arms around Morgan for reassurance. “Better now?”

“Yes,” Morgan agreed. “Much better. Things will be a little tight until it’s all in place, but just until then. And those are great ideas to make money.”

Dean brushed a kiss to the top of her head, as if she were as little as Jerry. “And until then, there’s always poker, pool, and fake credit cards.”

Morgan smiled. She had a content feeling, a safe feeling that settled over her. It was unfamiliar, and warm, and ultimately reassuring in a way that she had never felt before, even with her own parents. She had known, even as a toddler, how capricious hunting was, even before it had been proven as such to her. And now that it had, now that hunting had taken her family, it had at least given her a damn good new one.


	9. Chapter 9

FIC TITLE: The Home for Wayward Children  
Author- PTBvisiongrrl   
Part- 9/? (I promise nothing else, which is why its marked complete, but ideas are a–brewing.)  
Date- 8/24/16  
Rating – PG-13/T (at least for now…I will clearly warn if it changes)  
Pairings/Characters- Sam/Dean brother bond; Dean/Castiel romantic relationship  
Word Count- 2,100  
Genre- Angst, Family, Romance   
Warnings- Spoilers- AU for Season 11. I had already written this before the finale.   
Disclaimers- Unfortunately, I don’t own any of these characters, and make absolutely no profit from taking them out to play…so please don’t sue me. If I did own them, there would be a lot more shirtless Winchesters and Angels of the Lord getting some on the show!  
Summary-   
At 39, Dean has taken more hits than a NFL quarterback, and his body has begun to feel it. His bones practically grate against each other when he gets up in the morning, and the rain makes him want to ball up into the fetal position until the Tylenol and Jack kick in. But if there isn’t hunting, what is there? All there has ever been is hunting things and helping people, the family business. Well, maybe it’s time to help other people hunt things and expand the family. 

 

Chapter 9

The whirlwind of Charlie arrived two days and another shopping trip later. She was a force of nature, under milder circumstances, but dropped in the middle of five kids? 

The kids would love her, Dean was sure. 

Knowing Charlie was on her way had Dean on his toes and sent him into cleaning mode for hours. Sam just looked at Dean like he had three heads, grabbed Colton, and they headed four towns over to shoot some pool so that they wouldn’t be pulled into the madness, and to earn some more cash for now. Sam had already emailed Charlie his online database idea, so she had time to think about it before she got there, and other than regular chores, Sam felt no need to stay in the Bunker with this domestic whirling dervish version of Dean.

Sam also suspected that Dean might be displacing some nervous energy about the eventual conversation Charlie would make Dean have about his new relationship with Cas. Because Charlie did not let you avoid the hard topics, and Charlie really was like their little sister—she would want to make sure that Dean had thought things through, that this would really make him happy, and that Cas understood that angel or not, Charlie would kick his ass if he hurt Dean. Dean would be uncomfortable about 90% of those things, and the King of Denial was distracting himself from thinking about it by cleaning everything in sight. So Sam opted to take the easy way out and avoid, avoid, avoid for now.

Cas simply kept his mouth closed, minded children and followed Dean’s directions for what to clean and move and move again. The guest room have been thoroughly cleaned after the kids had chosen their own rooms and moved out of it, but Dean did it again and made sure it had anything Charlie might need in it, down to a toothbrush and towels. Dinners were premade for the next two days, ready to dump into the crock pot (chili, with rice and cornbread) or oven (the lasagna, already made). Dean had even sat down with the children and gotten as much of their family, medical, and school histories written down as they could remember and he could decipher. He figured that would make creating new identities for the children faster for Charlie. 

When there was nothing more to be done, and Charlie had not yet arrived (she had told Dean in the afternoon, and it was barely past noon), Dean sat himself down on Jerry’s bed, the two youngest playing at the little wooden table from the thrift store, and finally cracked open his sketch pad. 

Opening his laptop, he pulled up some Star Wars artwork. Flipping through, he found something (just a light saber, not a character just yet) that would be fairly easy to recreate and went to work. He was so into it that he lost track of time a little bit, and was surprised by Cas appearing at the door, Dean’s cell phone in his hand. 

“I didn’t want to answer it for you, but it says Charlie.” Cas held the noisy little piece of technology out to Dean, which blared Dean’s personalized ring tone for Charlie (I Kissed a Girl by Katy Perry). 

Dean quickly nodded to the kids playing, silently asking Cas to keep an eye on them, and left his sketch pad and laptop on the bed in his haste to answer his phone. “Hey, Charlie! Be right there!” echoed down the hallway and with the speeding, heavy thuds of Dean’s booted feet. Even in Jerry’s room, Cas could hear the stomping up the metal steps to let her in. 

Cas was nervous. He and Charlie had met, had talked on the phone at points, had even “hung out” a bit with her with the brothers, but he had not had a great deal of contact with her on a one-to-one level. Charlie was very much like a little sister to the Winchesters, and her approval of Cas and Dean’s changing relationship would matter to Dean. 

Not enough, Cas knew, to make Dean change his mind or try to end things. The kids were also involved now, and any change to Cas and Dean’s relationship would affect them as well. But if Charlie didn’t approve, it would bother Dean. Subtle, needling, annoying bothering that would make Dean less happy when he acknowledged it. Therefore, Cas very much wanted Charlie to approve. 

But he still worried that she might not. Cas tried to brush that worry aside as he put Dean’s art supplies on the top of the dresser before sitting, cross-legged, next to the boys to play while waiting for Dean and Charlie. 

S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C…

Charlie barreled through the now-open door, dropping all her bags but her laptop case into a pile so that she could wrap her arms around Dean in a hug worthy of a much larger person. Dean hugged back just as fondly, though less forcefully, only letting go after several long minutes of hug returned. “Charlie!”

“Dean!” Charlie returned with a wide smile. “S0 good to see you guys! Where’s Sam?”

Dean looked a little skittish. “He and Colton, that’s the sixteen year old, are pool sharking for a bit. I’ll let them know you’re here; I’m sure they’ll be back shortly.”

Eyebrow raised, Charlie asked, “And Cas?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Dean licked his lower lip before replying. “He’s watching the two little ones, Jerry and Petie, in Jerry’s room. Playing blocks, most likely. Wanna beer?”

Charlie read Dean well, conceding to put off seeing Cas and the kids to talk about whatever it was that Dean felt he needed to tell her. “How about I leave these somewhere out of the way?” she motioned to her bags. 

That snapped Dean out of his odd skittishness. “Yeah, yeah, of course! Let me take some of that, and we’ll leave it at the end of the hall for now.”

Grabbing her fair share of luggage, Charlie followed Dean down the steps and to the kitchen after dropping off. Dean pulled two beers out, opened them and handed her one. She sipped it, watching Dean chug half of his in one shot. She waited until his stopped for breath before asking, “So when did you hook up with Cas finally?”

Dean sprayed the room—but luckily not Charlie—with beer. “What? How did you—“

Charlie laughed heartily. “Everyone could see it. We just kinda assumed you’d never do anything about it. But with how much you’ve been talking about Cas, and the kids, it seemed to me that you were over coming inertia. And meeting me at the door all nervous like that?” Charlie laughed and took another sip. “I mean, what, did you think my gaydar would start blaring when I saw you?”

Dean sipped his beer this time, soft pink under his freckles. “Maybe.”

“So when?” Charlie slugged Dean gently. “Who broke first? Spill the deets!”

“Geez,” Dean colored more. “You are such a girl.”

“Yes, I am,” Charlie agreed. “So give me the details!”

“I, uh, said something first,” Dean admitted. “After that last battle, I just can’t keep hunting. I really, physically, can’t keep this up. And I told Cas that, and asked if he would move into the Bunker with me. He said yes.”

“Into the Bunker, not into your bed, huh?” Charlie tutted. 

“Charlie!” Dean objected. 

“Don’t play coy, Dean,” Charlie shook her head and drank some more. “You are a horn dog with the ladies. Who knew you would be different with guys?”

“It’s not guys, it’s one guy, just Cas,” Dean clarified. “And I’m not saying I didn’t invite him into my bed. I’m just not sharing details of that.”

“Well, considering how NOT into that I am, thanks for not over-sharing those details.” Charlie crossed her arms and gave Dean a slightly contorted smile, squinting an eye at him. “But did he say yes?”

“Yes, he said yes,” Dean answered. “We are sharing a room.”

Charlie smiled and wrapped Dean up in another fierce hug. “And that is going well?”

Dean sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “Yes, it is. I thought you didn’t want those details?”

Charlie backed off, hands up. “That isn’t what I was asking!”

Dean finished his beer and put the bottle in the sink. “Are you asking if we’ve had our first fight yet? Because we haven’t.”

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d had any big gay freak out or anything. I mean, this is your first guy relationship.” Charlie shrugged. “Just curious.”

“Nothing to freak out about. I kinda already did that…for, like, seven years. I’m over it,” Dean made a forgetaboutit lip curl. “And the sex is pretty awesome.”

“Dude!” Charlie protested.

Smiling wide, Dean laughed loudly. “Got ya! Cas is good for me. I hope I’m good for him.”

“I hope so, too, Dean. It’s really great to see you actually happy for a change.” Charlie put her own half-full beer bottle on the counter. “Although I’m pretty sure the rugrats have something to do with that, too, huh? ‘Cause that is one big adjustment.”

Dean gave Charlie a long look. “They don’t have anybody. We can be somebody for them. I’m never having my own kids, so this is the only chance I’ll get to do that. And Sam and Cas fully support that.”

Charlie met Dean’s eyes seriously. “I wish I had someone like that for me. I’m really proud of you for taking the kids on.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” Dean genuinely smiled at her and tugged at her arm. “Why don’t we go meet them?”

Charlie practically skipped behind Dean. 

S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C…

Cas was carefully stacking blocks in a tower with Jerry. They were trying to see how tall they could build it before it collapsed, but by the third Godzilla-Petie interruption, Cas and Jerry gave up. Instead of towers, they began building small piles for Petie to knock down, which he happily did. 

So busy with their game, Cas didn’t notice Dean and Charlie in the doorway. Charlie observed Dean’s reaction to watching Cas with the little ones, so happy for the two of them. Dean’s face was glowing just looking at his little family, until he caught on to Charlie’s attention on him and went pink again. 

Jerry noticed the two adults first. “’ean! Is dis Charlie?”

Cas immediately looked up, saying hello, although he did not rise for a hug until he caught Petie up in his arms. The boy was quite the speed crawler, and Cas felt better with him in arm than under foot. “And this little man is Petie,” Cas introduced Charlie before sitting back down to release the squirming child, greeting complete. Jerry ran right to Dean, however, how scooped him up and introduced him to Charlie. 

“This is our good friend, Charlie Bradbury. She is amazingly smart, and funny, and a hunter.” Dean made sure to point that out. He wanted Jerry and the kids to be able to talk about hunting without worry to someone other than their adult caregivers if they needed to. “She’s even been to Oz.”

Oz got more of a reaction than any other part of that introduction. “Oz? Like, wid da witch and da lion and da scaredy-crow?”

Charlie smiled wider than Dean had ever seen her. “Sorta, Jerry. I hung out with Dorothy, and Glinda the Good Witch, mostly. And I did see quite a few Munchkins. Do you like The Wizard of Oz?”

Jerry shook his head. “I don’ like da witch. Witches be bad.”

Charlie tilted her head. “Not all, but most seem to be, yeah. I’m back now, to help Dean and Sam and Cas with some stuff.”

“’ean said you was gonta make me a new name,” Jerry agreed solemnly. “But I like my old one.”

“Well, Jerry, I’ll see what we can do about picking you a name you’ll like. How’s that?” Charlie taped Jerry on the end of his nose. 

Jerry studied Charlie like he studied everything new while he was deciding if he liked the new thing or not. “Okay,” he agreed, shot Charlie a smile, and then tugged Dean’s arm to let him back down. “After we play some?”

Charlie agreed, looking at Dean. “Yeah, after we play some.” She winked at Dean and got down on the floor.


	10. Chapter 10

FIC TITLE: The Home for Wayward Children  
Author- PTBvisiongrrl   
Part- 10/? (I promise nothing.)  
Date- 9/1/16  
Rating – PG-13/T (at least for now…I will clearly warn if it changes)  
Pairings/Characters- Sam/Dean brother bond; Dean/Castiel romantic relationship  
Word Count- 2,243  
Genre- Angst, Family, Romance   
Warnings- Spoilers- AU for Season 11. I had already written this before the finale.   
Disclaimers- Unfortunately, I don’t own any of these characters, and make absolutely no profit from taking them out to play…so please don’t sue me. If I did own them, there would be a lot more shirtless Winchesters and Angels of the Lord getting some on the show!  
Summary-   
At 39, Dean has taken more hits than a NFL quarterback, and his body has begun to feel it. His bones practically grate against each other when he gets up in the morning, and the rain makes him want to ball up into the fetal position until the Tylenol and Jack kick in. But if there isn’t hunting, what is there? All there has ever been is hunting things and helping people, the family business. Well, maybe it’s time to help other people hunt things and expand the family. 

 

Chapter 10

It took Colton and Sam an entire Disney movie plus to get back to the Bunker, but they did return with full wallets. Sam shouted for Charlie as soon as he crossed the threshold, with Colton trailing behind. Charlie, hearing Sam’s arrival, made her way from the lounge towards the steps. She barely made it half-way across the main room before she was literally swept up in Sam’s arms and spun around. “Long time, Bradbury!” Sam chastised, as he brushed a kiss against her cheek and let her go. 

Charlie did a whatareyougonnado? shrug, and punched Sam in the arm. “Stop having the world on its way to ending, and maybe we can go LARP for a weekend again!”

Sam shuddered. “No thanks, really. Once was enough.”

From behind Sam’s mammoth frame came a puzzled voice. “What the hell is LARPing?”

Charlie leaned to her right to see past Sam, and smiled wide in glee. “You must be Colton! Hi!”

Colton nodded in agreement, then repeated, in a quiet and polite tone, “LARP?”

Dean, who had followed Charlie out of the lounge, leaned against one side of the archway with his arms crossed over his chest. “Live Action Role Play. Like, knights and priests and magic users and shit.”

“And Queens!” Charlie protested, curtsying to Dean, who couldn’t keep his curmudgeonly frown at that. “Plus, you know you loved being my handmaiden,” Charlie smiled sweetly. 

“Knight,” Dean corrected her, carefully enunciating the “t.”

“Shoulda been the handmaiden,” Sam muttered, walking around Charlie to reach Dean, handing him a roll of bills. “Pool went well.”

Dean flipped through the bills, nodded in agreement, and pocketed the wad. “Great. Cause next up for the kids is—school. Which means school supplies.”

Charlie nodded. “And that’s why I’m here. Colton, Dean, how about we sit down and talk about that cyber school thing while the little ones are otherwise occupied?”

Colton shrugged a shoulder, but said, “Sure. War room, or library?”

“Library,” Sam interjected. “Because when Charlie is finished with you, she and I can start working on the web database idea.”

“Let’s get all the school stuff settled first—working on all the new identities at the same time is easier when creating this many people,” Charlie contradicted. “Plus, I have a feeling that once I get into the database, it will be DAYS before I want to emerge.”

Sam agreed, and went to start dinner while Dean was occupied with Colton and Charlie, and Cas had the little ones TV-hypnotized for a bit.

S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C…

By the time dinner was ready, Charlie had a firm start on the new Remington family history—the last name that they would ALL be adopting, even the adults. The Winchester line was going to have to come to an end. The backstory was that Dean and Sam’s younger brothers had been killed, with their wives, in a car accident, leaving all their children to Dean’s care. It also made it easier for the children to keep their first names, which Dean greatly appreciated, and to avoid the entire situation of not being their father. Dean did not want the children to have to call him Dad in front of outsiders and Dean at home; and none of them was ready for the “Dad” calling, anyway. 

Colton Remington was also newly registered as an eleventh grader at a local cyber charter school. Charlie could fiddle more with the not-yet-high school kids grades than she could with Colton’s. It took a bit to figure out what classes Colton had either completed before (Algebra 1 and 2, but not Geometry) or could decently fake having completed (giving him three years of Latin with an A wasn’t that far of a stretch for a hunter). Colton was sure he would have to work hard to pass the classes he was assigned, given the spotty nature of his previous schooling, but he would do what he had to so that he could graduate in what could be considered “on time.” 

By the time Colton’s transcript was finished and standardized testing scores made up (and entered) for him, food was ready.

Dinner was just as chaotic as usual, but Charlie was unfazed, faring better than Cas, who should be getting more use to it by now. After dinner, while the younger children were being bathed and readied for bed, Charlie sat with Rose and Morgan to try and work up their records, too. For them, Charlie actually found a testing service site she could hack, and had the girls sit down to complete subject area tests. She would have them graded by the service and out of the system by tomorrow AM. The testing information should help her slot the girls into appropriate settings. Charlie didn’t want to assume their placement just based on age; it was something small, a detail that probably never occurred to Dean or Sam, but something she herself could do to help her friends better help these kids who really needed it. 

After sending the girls off to bed, and the little ones settled, Charlie sat down with Sam, Dean, and Cas to discuss their own new identities. “Dean said you all want to be able to work legally. I’m obviously not able to make you an MD or something like that, but what jobs did you have in mind?”

“Paralegal,” Sam immediately stated. At Dean’s raised eyebrow, Sam continued, “I know enough from internships and just dealing with the LSAT that I can do that credibly, as soon as I find a job. And even in a fairly small city, there will be jobs—although if not, there are plenty of commutable areas nearby I could look at.”

Dean raised his eyebrow, but agreed. “How’s that pay?”

“Better than anything else I might manage to do part-time. That way, I can still hunt some while I work.” Sam sat back in his chair. 

“But you don’t want to stop hunting. Why chain yourself to any job?” Dean asked. “I do not want to be what makes you give up the hunt before you are ready. I told you, I am responsible for them, not you.”

Sam shot Dean Bitchface #13. “I know that. And I want to help them, too. I can work 2,3 days a week and hunt the rest.”

Cas put a hand on Dean’s shoulder just as Dean started to puff up with a no, and Dean instantly deflated and conceded. “Thank you, Sammy. But if this doesn’t work, once you get the job, I don’t mind you quitting.”

“I mind!” Charlie raised her hand and objected. “Remember, this is not a temporary identity. Once these files are inserted and set, the documents printed, this is you. You can’t just disappear, or get arrested, or magically change your field. If you say paralegal, and decide later to be a vet tech, you’ll just have to go back to school first. So choose wisely, Winchesters!”

Dean agreed docilely with a head nod, Cas’s hand still on his shoulder, centering him. “What about Cas? What will you have to create for him to work as a translator?”

“There are standardized tests to be certified by certain agencies; it’s easy. I can also give you some certs to teach languages to kids, which makes sense with your job. A lot of language teachers do translations on the side.” Charlie typed away. “What languages do you want to translate? Arabic and Mandarin are in demand. I mean, don’t you know like, every language?” 

Cas nodded. “Yes. I do. I am comfortable with a great number of languages. Mandarin is not one of the languages I am highly skilled at.”

“Mandarin is not one, then. How about Arabic?” Charlie asked. 

“Farsi and Urdu, as well. Hebrew, too.” Cas tilted his head to the right slightly, thinking. “Latin and Greek, of course. I don’t think Enochian will be in high demand, but it still fits the list. Hindi.”

“Shit, Cas,” Dean marveled. “I mean, I KNEW you speak like a million languages, but when you start listing them… Maybe you’d rather be a professor at a college, teach history or something.”

Dryly, Cas laughed. “I have never sat in a college class to even be able to act like I knew what I was doing as the teacher. I prefer translation—it uses my talents, but I do not have to deal face-to-face with people, for the most part. Sam said we could handle it via email.”

“Yes,” Charlie agreed at that point. “We did talk about that part, and it will be put in as part of the Bunker Archive site as well as your own independent site for translation services. I’ll bet that whatever law firm Sam ends up at will need translation services as well. Spanish might be good to add to that list.”

Cas genially agreed and Charlie continued talking while typing. “Okay, then you are all set with a college degree, teaching certifications, and professional translator certifications. I also have a new birth certificate, driver’s license, and social for you. Welcome to Kansas, Mr. Derringer.”

“What happened to Remington?” Dean immediately protested.

Charlie frowned at Dean. “You want Cas to be your BROTHER in this new life?”

“NO!” Dean shouted, then caught himself and more docilely growled, “no. That’s just, ugh, crazy fan-girly.”

“Then Cas needs a different last name. Unless you are proposing?” Charlie asked, raising an eyebrow loftily. 

Dean turned bright red and couldn’t get a word out of his suddenly air-less lungs. 

Cas simply looked perturbed, waiting for more information. “Proposing to do what?” Cas asked. He repeated his question when no one answered him. 

Sam bit his lip, and studied his brother’s face before answering Castiel. “Proposing to marry you, dude. So you can take his last name and be a legal part of the family.”

Cas sat down and leaned back abruptly. “Oh.” He looked at Dean’s face, and then down at his own hands clenched in his lap, speaking softer this time. “Oh.”

The tiny, soft voice was so unlike Cas that it kicked Dean in the butt and forced him to say something to make his Angel happy again. “Okay, yeah. I guess I am then. Do you wanna get married, Cas?” Dean stared into Cas’s baby blues, unblinking and focused.

Cas noted it. Dean rarely could hold Cas’s eyes in emotional moments. Dean invariable ended up looking away or turning around so that Cas could no longer see Dean’s emerald spheres. Keeping Dean’s gaze, Cas tentatively asked, “Do you want to be married to me, Dean? I think that is more the question.”

Dean blinked rapidly, his irises falling to the floor and only returning to meet Cas’s eyes with a great deal of obvious effort. “Yeah, yeah I do, Cas. I really do. I mean,” and here Dean tried to joke in a wet sounding voice, “we already live together and have kids, so we sorta are already.”

“Not yet,” Sam interrupted the moment. He could see where this was going, and there was no way in hell that he was going to let his brother just suddenly become married without a ring, or vows, or a honeymoon. He could probably do without the bachelor party; Dean had essentially spent the last twenty years on an extended one. “This is a big deal.”

Cas looked hurt, and Dean startled, at Sam’s words. “You don’t want me to marry your brother? I thought you were okay with us, Sam.”

Feeling like an ass, Sam clarified. “Of course I want you two married. I just meant that you should actually GET married. Like, with vows and rings. Maybe go away on a honeymoon, too, no kids or supernatural monsters pursuing you.”

Dean snorted in laughter. “We got five kids to feed besides ourselves, no legal employment, and certainly no hidden ‘nest egg,’ so I think a honeymoon is not in the cards.” Dean made a slightly squinty face, the corners of his eyes creasing. “But vows and rings, fuck yeah, we should do that part.”

Cas agreed with Dean’s limited ideas. “I would appreciate a formal swearing of vows, and a constant reminder on my hand.”

Charlie grinned ear to ear. This was not quite how she was expecting her trip to turn out, but it was turning into a kick-ass visit. “Well, I can go ahead and create a marriage certificate for Mr. Remington and Mr. Derringer, for in say, a week, and then do a change of name request, backdated….” Charlie typed away, talking to herself under her breath. 

Dean reached out and took Cas’s left hand, holding it and turning it around to look at Cas’s naked ring finger. “I think we can track rings down by then.”

“And write our own vows by then,” Cas added. “Will you officiate, Charlie? As Queen, it is your right.”

Charlie actually giggled. “I knew I’d like you, Cas. I most certainly can!”

Sam sighed. “I am not LARPing for this,” he stated plaintively. 

“Of course not, Sam!” Dean reassured his little brother. “It’s just going to be a little thing in the Bunker, just us family.”

“I want Claire to be here, too,” Cas spoke up. “I’m going to go call Jody,” he said as he left the room to speak to his daughter privately.


	11. Chapter 11

FIC TITLE: The Home for Wayward Children  
Author- PTBvisiongrrl   
Part- 11/? (I promise nothing.)  
Date- 11/26/16  
Rating – PG-13/T (at least for now…I will clearly warn if it changes)  
Pairings/Characters- Sam/Dean brother bond; Dean/Castiel romantic relationship  
Word Count- 2,428  
Genre- Angst, Family, Romance   
Warnings- Spoilers- AU for Season 11. I had already written this before the finale.   
Disclaimers- Unfortunately, I don’t own any of these characters, and make absolutely no profit from taking them out to play…so please don’t sue me. If I did own them, there would be a lot more shirtless Winchesters and Angels of the Lord getting some on the show!  
Summary-   
At 39, Dean has taken more hits than a NFL quarterback, and his body has begun to feel it. His bones practically grate against each other when he gets up in the morning, and the rain makes him want to ball up into the fetal position until the Tylenol and Jack kick in. But if there isn’t hunting, what is there? All there has ever been is hunting things and helping people, the family business. Well, maybe it’s time to help other people hunt things and expand the family. 

 

Chapter 11

Dean smiled at Cas’s exit, glad the ex-angel not only wanted to marry him but wanted Claire to know as soon as possible as well. “One more thing settled,” he said happily, looking to Sam and Charlie. Charlie was trying to nonchalantly wipe a tear away and Sam was smiling wider than Dean could ever remember him smiling, even as a child. “What?” he demanded, turning gruff.

“You two are so—“ Charlie started, only to be quickly and decisively cut off by Sam.

“Meant for each other,” Sam ended Charlie’s sentence before she made a mistake of epic proportions and said cute. “I’m just really, really happy for you two, Dean.”

Dean narrowed his eyes and grit his teeth, knowing that while the sentiment was true, it was NOT what Charlie was going to say. “Thanks. I mean that. I know that I can be difficult about this, but I really love Cas. He’s it. No one else, forever.”

Sam’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes as it got impossible bigger. “And with a Winchester, it might really BE forever.”

Dean laughed as expected. “So, now in addition to getting the kids ready for school, and into a new routine, and starting a huge web business, we have a wedding to plan. In a week.” He looked up at the ceiling, thinking details through in his head. “Great.”

Charlie closed her lap-top and stood up. “Well, you can sit and think about that while I go print out the new identity documents, and then while Sam and I start working on the database. “

Dean nodded distractedly, barely acknowledging the other two now that his mind had a list to make. 

S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C…

Later that night, kids in bed and Charlie and Sam ensconced in the library, Dean lay beside Cas, wrapping himself around Cas’s lean, hot-as-a-radiator body. Cas wrapped an arm around Dean’s broad shoulders, pulling Dean in good and tight, and placed the empty arm up and behind his head. Both men started talking at the same time.

“So will Saturday—“ Dean began.

“Claire will be here on—“ Cas also began. 

The men smiled at each other, and Dean nodded to let Cas continue. “Claire will be here on Friday. Her classes are done in the morning and she will drive immediately down. She insists that we must have new suits for the wedding, and she wants to help pick them out.”

Dean grimaced. “I hate suit shopping. But cool that she will be here so soon.”

Cas agreed about clothes shopping. “Maybe we could just wear jeans and button-downs?”

Dean sat up abruptly. “No! She’s right. We can’t get married in what we wear every day. Its supposed to be a special occasion.”

Cas was slightly taken aback. “Okay, I understand the need to make it special. But do you really want suits? I thought you would appreciate a more casual approach.”

Dean snuggled—not that he would admit to doing so, outside the four walls of their bedroom—back down. “Every other part is already casual. I want a couple of special things. But maybe not suits.”

Cas conceded. “I can deal with suits, if you want, or not, if you want. What else needs to be special?”

“Sam is my best man, and he has to wear a suit, too, if we are. I want pictures, like posed pictures. You and I, both of us with Sam, you with Claire, and one of the whole brood.” Dean studied Cas’s blue eyes. “That’s one thing that I really regret. Hunting lifestyle meant not a lot of normal, and certainly not that many photos. I remember my mom, but I only have a couple of pictures of her. Not many more of my dad. I want pictures to help me remember when we are old and gray and senile and they are, too.”

“Pie?” Cas asked playfully. “Lots and lots of pie?”

Dean smiled. “Cake is traditional.”

“And you can still surprise me,” Cas hugged Dean. “I really thought you’d go for pie.”

Dean shrugged, settling down, starting to feel the tired of the day in his bones. “Sometimes I can be a traditionalist.”

Cas kissed Dean’s forehead and turned them over so that he could big-spoon Dean. “Good night, Dean.”

Dean’s response was barely audible, followed quickly by a snuffley deep breath indicating sleep was here.

S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C…

Charlie and Sam spent the next six hours or so setting up the format of the database and the scanning schedule of the immense library. It would take a month or two of scanning to get enough up to offer a subscription service, but they could have an index of available books within two weeks. Users could search the index and request immediate scanning of the book for an extra processing fee. The site was tiered, with level of access to more arcane subjects costing more, and translation of texts even more than that. If there were enough people to subscribe, which Charlie thought there would be (between nerds and geeks simply curious to writers needing research information to magic users looking for spells…), it could eventually set the family up with a tidy nest egg. Not enough to stop working or anything, but enough to make them more comfortable and less worried about every penny.

The subject of Cas and Dean’s wedding was ignored for the night, other than periodic comments about how happy the couple seemed and how happy that made Sam and Charlie. 

“So,” Charlie sat back in her chair, usual energy flagging now at 3 AM. “How are things with you?”

Sam smiled crookedly, a little taken aback. “Great. Why?”

“Just curious. I mean, Dean made it really clear that he is the Winchester responsible for all these kids. He’s not hunting any more. He’s even—gasp—settling down.” Charlie closed her laptop and stretched, arms arching over her head. “You are getting a regular 9 to 5. That’s big changes.”

“Yeah, it is change,” Sam agreed. “But it’s about time. I mean, I am not giving up on hunting, but I don’t want it to be my whole life anymore, either. I’d like a little slice of apple-pie nearly-normal.” Sam bit his lip. “And, believe it or not, Dean is awesome with kids. Always has been. I’m glad he wants to do this. I think it’s good for him.”

Charlie leaned on the table, chin in hand. “But is it good for you? You two are so close, and this is so much change to throw between you all at once…”

Smiling, dimples showing the truth behind his words, Sam said, “For once, its healthy change. These kids—Dean and I know how they grew up. I understand what it’s like, know what I wish I could have talked about back in the day but didn’t have anyone to talk with but Dean. I’m hoping I can help these kids have as normal a life as possible.”

“That’s commendable, Sam. You are a really good guy.” Charlie yawned, unable to help herself. “I want to do what I can to help you all do this paranormal Brady Bunch thing you got going. So, first thing when I get up, I’ll get the skeleton of this database knocked out and set you up with a scanning station.” Charlie yawned again, standing up. “Then, we’re going shopping for wedding decorations and clothes.”

Sam groaned. “Seriously?”

“You have five kids, a best man and probably a best woman, as well as two grooms, to dress. We aren’t throwing some every day backyard BBQ here, dude.” Charlie punched Sam in the bicep. “No wussing out here. You were the one going on about making this special, yadda, yadda, yadda.”

“I know,” Sam answered, dragging his own tired bones up and moving towards his bed. “I just, well, I forgot about the shopping part.”

“Suck it up, buttercup,” was all Charlie answered over her shoulder as she searched out her own bed. 

S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C… S & D/C…

“You are not baking your own wedding cake, Dean,” Charlie insisted. She was the last one at the kitchen table while Dean made more coffee, since she was the last one up this morning. (It was actually almost afternoon before she emerged.) 

“Why not?” Dean questioned. “I’m a pretty decent baker.”

“Because its YOUR wedding. You aren’t supposed to do that much work.” Charlie was cranky from lack of sleep, and getting crankier the longer she talked to Dean. “You have three jobs for this shin-ding, and only three jobs—look good, be on time, and write some kick-ass vows. I got everything else. After all, you now come with built-in help.”

Dean grumbled, but Charlie’s ire was squashed by the appearance of Castiel, who agreed with her. “Yes, Dean. There are other people to take care of the wedding itself. Claire expressed the desire to help as well.”

“She’s two hours away until the day before, Cas. What else can she do to help?” Dean questioned. 

“Claire informed me that she will be bringing decorations with her and the cake is already ordered, via internet, at a local bakery.” Cas made his way over to his grumpy fiancé and wrapped his arms around him. “Jody has agreed to take pictures, and to organize the food with Donna.”

“Donna’s coming to this, too?” Dean cringed. “Who else?”

“Krissy,” Cas added. “That is all. Unless you can think of anyone else you might like to invite?”

Filling up a mug as soon as the coffee was ready, Dean threw it back and refilled it before handing off mugs to Charlie and Cas as well. “No, no one else. It’s fine. I don’t have anything to worry about this week then, except chores, school registration, and food shopping.”

“And Jerry and Petie,” Morgan chimed in from the doorway. “Y’know, if I’m going to be at school and all.”

“Yes, you will be in school,” Charlie answered her. “Tomorrow. I got your results back and will finish up those school records today. I gotta say, I’m impressed. You tested at a senior level in high school.”

“So I get to start a new school as a senior, after the beginning of the year?” Morgan looked stricken. “That should be fun.”

Dean tried to make Morgan feel better. “Would you rather be a junior? Charlie can do that.”

Morgan bit her lip and shook her head. “No. I don’t want to spend any more time in school than I have to. But if I’m a senior, I should already have taken the SAT and applied to college and stuff, shouldn’t have I?”

“Yes,” Charlie agreed. “If you were going to four-year college directly after high school. But if you want to start at the local community college, or take a year off, you are fine.”

“Why would she want to take a year off?” Dean barked, truly puzzled. School had never been his thing, but he wanted his kids to have a normal life. That meant hitting milestones like college on time. “If she’s missed deadlines for other schools, then it’ll just have to be community college for a year.”

Morgan looked torn. “I don’t know if I want to go to college. I never thought about it before. I didn’t realize I was that smart.”

Dean looked upset at her words. “Just because you haven’t been sitting in a classroom learning stupid crap doesn’t mean you haven’t been learning. But you aren’t as old as most seniors. You could sit back for a year as a junior and plan.”

“No,” Morgan shook her head. “If I can get out faster, I can get a job faster.”

“No,” Dean and Cas both countered. “School is your job.”

Cas reached across the table and wrapped his hand around Morgan’s. “School is your one and only job right now. It is my and Dean’s jobs to take care of you. You do not have to worry about getting a job to pay bills and such.”

Charlie decided to intercede. “Let’s put you in junior classes. Give you that time to figure out what you want to do and plan for it accordingly. You are three years ahead of where you should be, age-wise. Given how you were raised—“ Charlie held her hands up in a defensive gesture before the three hunters at the table could voice the dirty looks they shot her way—“some extra time with your peers, doing regular activities, would be good for you. No matter how excellent your parents might have been, there is no way you have psychologically escaped the scarring of knowing the things that are really out there.”

Dean’s shoulders relaxed a little, because he couldn’t argue with that logic. Life as an adult hunter was reason enough for PTSD; Dean and Sam had lived the life long enough to figure out how they had been mentally scarred as children by the experience, even if they had come to terms with it. Dean wanted to spare Morgan as much of that as possible. “I think that’s a good idea.”

When Cas thirded the idea, Morgan ceded. “Okay. I guess being two years younger than everyone is better than three. I won’t be as much of a freak.”

“Thank you,” Dean told Morgan. “So, Monday we register you and Rosie.”

“Rosie is right on track, with sixth grade,” Charlie added. “And I already checked out the local school and hacked into the records…”

“What?” Dean demanded, eyes wide. “I thought we had to do this legit—“

Charlie shook her head, a frown on her lips and eye brow raised. “Relax. I was just checking the bus schedule. It stops about a quarter mile away, at about 6:45.”

Dean calmed down. “Oh. Okay, great. I won’t have to pick up and drop off them.” When Dean had considered the school process, he hadn’t factored in the two smaller children he would have with him when he picked up the girls. The bus made that much easier. “Thank you,” Dean managed to press out, feeling a little foolish that he had been so quick to jump on his friend.

Charlie smiled and winked. “No worries, Dean-o. But now that that’s taken care of…we have wedding shopping to do!”


	12. Chapter 12

FIC TITLE: The Home for Wayward Children  
Author- PTBvisiongrrl   
Part- 12/12 (There may be some follow-up pieces later, sort of drop ins to see how everyone is doing, but nothing is set yet.)  
Date- 12/10/16  
Rating – PG-13/T (at least for now…I will clearly warn if it changes)  
Pairings/Characters- Sam/Dean brother bond; Dean/Castiel romantic relationship  
Word Count- 2,618  
Genre- Angst, Family, Romance   
Warnings- Spoilers- AU for Season 11. I had already written this before the finale.   
Disclaimers- Unfortunately, I don’t own any of these characters, and make absolutely no profit from taking them out to play…so please don’t sue me. If I did own them, there would be a lot more shirtless Winchesters and Angels of the Lord getting some on the show!  
Summary-   
At 39, Dean has taken more hits than a NFL quarterback, and his body has begun to feel it. His bones practically grate against each other when he gets up in the morning, and the rain makes him want to ball up into the fetal position until the Tylenol and Jack kick in. But if there isn’t hunting, what is there? All there has ever been is hunting things and helping people, the family business. Well, maybe it’s time to help other people hunt things and expand the family. 

 

Chapter 12

Dean studied the clothes laid out on the bed for him, freshly pressed and laundered. Claire had been insistent about the colors he and Castiel were wearing—blue for him and green for Cas—once both men had decided that suits were just not for them. Their t-shirts—plain, no pockets, not as baggy as usual—and over-shirts—again, plain (no flannel!), button downs with the same white buttons but matching the t-shirts—were not fancy. Neither were the sturdy, fitted jeans, dark for Dean and light wash for Cas. But the clothing was new, bought with intent for the event. Claire had even prevailed on them for a “fun” item—matching low-top Chuck Taylors, for their best people (Claire and Sam) as well as and for the little kids, who were very happy to be dressed to match the grooms as well. 

Dean was struggling with all the attention and fuss. Cas took it in stride, but always with a careful eye on Dean during the process. Cas knew when Dean needed a moment to himself, when it was getting to be too much, and drew him away for a quick kiss, a reassuring hug, or just to remind him how much Cas loved him. That was all it took, and Dean would be ready to get back to wedding work. 

Granted, most of the wedding work was not Dean’s purview but simply cleaning and straightening up. Of course, that also meant getting a few more bedrooms ready (and that meant washing a lot of dusty linens), and rearranging the library to accommodate 5 kids, 8 adults, a ceremony, and a dinner. The one part that Dean put off in fear and frustration, the only thing that he had to do completely on his own—vows. Dean was not the most gifted with words to begin with, and this had to be special, dammit. 

So, in prime Winchester form, he ignored it as long as he possibly could, until the night before the wedding. Whereupon, writer’s block firmly refused to cooperate, and even a couple whiskeys couldn’t budge it or provide inspiration. And now, as he was getting dressed, he was panicking. He was going to have to wing it (no pun intended, marrying an angel). Speak from the heart. 

Fuck. He was going to have to have a chick flick moment. Publicly. With a full audience.

Double fuck.

Dean was dressed, hair dried and styled, shoes laced, and still vow-less when Sam knocked on his door a half-hour later. Snapping out of the beginning of a panic attack, Dean called out for Sam to enter. 

Sam took one look and shook his head at Dean. “You didn’t write your vows.”

“Of course I wrote my vows!” Dean automatically contradicted Sam, defending himself, and then quickly folded. “No, I didn’t. I tried, but I just couldn’t…”

Grabbing a pad of paper and a pen from Dean’s desk, Sam sat down on Dean’s bed, back against the headboard. “What do you want to say?” Sam asked with a sigh.

“This isn’t some math test I can cheat off you for an A, Sam!” Dean growled. “I have to be the one to do it. I just…can’t write it down.”

“Dude, you’ve got just ten minutes until we get started. Claire went to get Cas while I got you.” Sam looked pensive. “Don’t fuck this up.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“He’ll still marry you, even if the vows are crap. He’ll put up with your sorry ass….because he loves you.” Sam rose. “But bring the pad and pen. We have to get to kitchen before Cas leaves Claire’s room.”

“Why?” Dean stuttered, being pulled along by Sam’s Sasquatch strength in Dean’s current state of confusion. 

“Can’t see the groom before the ceremony. You two refused to sleep apart last night, so this is really important.” Sam actually wore a serious face. 

“Are you screwing with me?” Dean demanded. “You believe in an actual superstition?”

Sam sighed. “Claire made me promise. She insisted. She remembers her dad telling her about that moment, seeing her mom dressed up and at the altar…”

Dean quickly agreed. “Okay. Kitchen,” he said, walking with a new purpose. 

Opening the fridge, Sam reached in and pulled out two bottles of beer. “Want one?”

“We got enough time for that, huh?” Dean scoffed, but nodded yes anyway. Taking the bottle, he downed it in two long swallows. 

“I almost still can’t believe you two are getting hitched,” Sam sipped his beer. “I just never thought either of you would get your head out of your ass long enough to admit to feelings, much less actually work out a relationship or get married.”

Dryly, Dean nodded in agreement. “I almost can’t believe it. After everything we’ve been through, all the times I just couldn’t say anything to Cas, wondering how I’m possibly good enough for an angel, an actual angel…and I’m still not sure I am, but I can’t not try to be that kind of husband to him.”

Sam took another sip, and shrugged. “You two are really made for each other, Dean. Don’t ever question that the Righteous Man is good enough for an Angel of the Lord.”

“I’ll remind you that you said that when Cas and I have our first fight and you are caught right in the middle of it,” Dean smirked, dropping his beer bottle into recycling. His anxiety was lessened by the exchange with his brother, but not gone. He still didn’t have vows. “Which might be right after my sucky vows disappoint him.”

Sam snorted. “I’d go for brevity at this point.”

Charlie’s head poked around the corner, interrupting. “Time for places.” Then, after inspecting Dean, she ran into the room to pull him into a fierce hug. “I’m so happy for you two,” she squeaked out. “Now, c’mon.” Tugging Dean to her left side, wrapping her arm through his, she pulled him to the entrance of library, Sam following behind until they stopped at the threshold. Then, one more hug delivered, she took her place at the altar. 

The library had been rearranged sometime in the past hour. The food—and a ton of food it was, from lasagna to sauerkraut and kielbasa to actual garden salad—was laid out over plastic sky blue and sage green table clothes on the large table, which had been pushed back against the shelves to make room for a few rows of folding chairs on either side of a small aisle in the center. 

The kids were all seated in the chairs, along with the other guests. But the kids, all in matching outfits (girls had baby blue, boys had sage green) of t-shirt and button down to match their Chucks, stuck out. At the end of the center aisle was a small table with candles and wine on it and a book shelf had been moved behind it and covered by a tapestry to create a small sacred space for the ceremony, where Charlie waited for Dean and Cas. 

Then all of Dean’s attention narrowed to a small focus on Castiel, who had appeared at the other end of the library, Claire beside him. Those baby blues practically glowed across the huge room, made more blue with the clothing choice. The sight of Castiel, waiting for Dean, radiating happiness, made Dean grin so wide he swore his face was going to freeze that way. Just as Dean was going to turn to Sam to start walking in, music started playing. 

It took Dean a few minutes, instrumental spilling into throaty words, to name the tune. Love Me or Leave Me, by Motörhead. Dean hadn’t given much thought to most of the details for today. Music for a wedding was not his forte, so he had left it up to Cas and Claire. He had assumed it would be the usual classical crap. 

This was him and Cas to a T, truly. It brought a tear to his eye, as happy as he was in this moment. Sam gave Dean a gentle shove to remind Dean to start walking, just as Claire had to do with Cas, and then kept pace next to him. The two pairs met at the aisle, where Sam and Claire paused and allowed the grooms to greet each other. 

Dean bit his lip, unable to take his eyes off his handsome husband. Claire had it right with not seeing each other before the ceremony, he had to admit. The giddiness in Dean’s chest made him lean forward and press his forehead against Cas’s. Cas smiled at him in return, grasping Dean’s hand and wrapping an arm around Dean’s shoulders. 

“I love you,” Cas whispered, low enough that it was only audible to Dean. 

Dean whispered back, “I love you, too.”

A tap on Dean’s shoulder brought the soon-to-be newlyweds back to awareness of all the people surrounding them, waiting for the show to start. “Ready?” Dean asked Cas. At Cas’s nod, Dean grabbed his hand and pulled Cas down the aisle with him, practically speed-walking to get to Charlie.

Charlie was smiling as widely as the grooms. “Welcome, all! Today, FINALLY, we are here to witness the formal joining of Dean and Castiel, and the beginning of their new life together. Before we begin, let’s get formality out of the way—gentlemen, as you ready to pledge your troth before your family and friends today?”

Dean smirked a little, but agreed. “Absolutely.”

Cas agreed as well. “Of course.”

Charlie practically vibrated. “And to those who have come forth to bear witness. Who presents these grooms?”

“We do,” echoed around the two, loud and firm and full of love. 

Charlie smiled. “Marriage is a holy union, a melding of heart and soul. Personally, I think you two are tardy to the official party. It has been obvious to the rest of your family for YEARS that you belong together. We rejoice that you two have finally acknowledged the depth of love between you and chosen to publicly declare your intentions to the world.”

Dean ducked his head, feeling the pink blush start to creep across his cheeks, but looked back up at Cas’s squeeze of his hand. Cas was…Dean’s rock, his purpose, his cushion against the world and his partner in crime. Dean had nothing to be shy about today, no reason to feel embarrassed by all this attention. Cas’s smile gave Dean strength to look around, to see the love surrounding them. He stood a little straighter, and squeezed Cas’s hand back, before looking at Charlie. 

“Now for the good part,” Charlie practically giggled. “Please turn to each other and grasp hands. Do you, Castiel, take Dean Winchester to be your husband, in sickness and health, in poverty and wealth, from now until death separates you, and all that comes between?”

Radiating happiness, Cas licked his lips and clearly stated, “Yes.”

Dean felt his heart race, waiting for his turn to answer. He did not have to wait long.   
Charlie quickly turned to him. “Do you, Dean Winchester, take Castiel to be your husband, in sickness and health, in poverty and wealth, from now until death separates you, and all that comes between?”

“Yes,” Dean stated, lowly, emotion making his voice thick and hoarse but no less firm than Cas.

“You have both declared your public intent to be married. Now is time to state your vows. Cas?” Charlie turned to the former angel first, knowing Dean well enough to know just how nervous he would be at this portion of the ceremony. 

Cas took both of Dean’s hands in his, and gazed steadily into Dean’s green depths. “We have journeyed from the pit of hell to heaven together. You were my mission, my purpose. The brightness of your soul, radiating out from all that darkness, called to me even then. I raised you from perdition. I rebuilt you, molecule by molecule. I learned who you were, in the depths of your essence, and began to fall in love with you. We fought evil, both heaven and hell, together, and I fell deeper and harder. You are a remarkable man that I am so very lucky to be able to call mine, forever. I love you, Dean Winchester.”

The emotion behind those words made Dean’s eyes flutter. If he hadn’t already been so nervous, he might have passed out from the sudden change in his blood pressure. Clearing his throat, making sure to keep his eyes on Cas’s, Dean took a deep breath and went for it.

“Honestly, Cas, I didn’t write any vows. I couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t sound corny and chick-flicky and Hallmark. You and I, we’ve been through too much together, to put even the bare essence of what you mean to me in just words. You have literally seen me at my lowest, have raised me out of the depths to live again. You put me before your orders, your Angel rules, before your Father, again and again. You have died for me. No one knows me like you do, no one understands me so well. When my mother used to tell me that angels were watching over me, she didn’t know just how truthful that statement was. I am so very glad that you have agreed to marry me, Castiel. I promise I will spend the rest of our days thanking you for that trust, for your love.”

Charlie sniffled, and there might have been an eye or two quickly wiped in the audience. “Now that you have given your oaths to each other, it is time to present the physical proof of that bond. Best people, please give these grooms their rings.”

Claire pulled Dean’s from her thumb, and stepped up to press it into Cas’s hand. Dean had never seen her smile so much. With a quick hug, and a kiss pressed against her cheek, Cas turned back to Dean and held the ring up between thumb and index finger. Dean held his hand out for Cas to slip the plain band onto his ring finger. 

“Repeat after me, as you place the ring,” Charlie began. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

The silver band was warm as Cas slid it slowly and snuggly into place. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

Sam stepped up, matching band gleaming in his massive palm as he held it out for Dean to take. Dean blinked rapidly, reaching blindly for the ring and almost knocking it to the floor. Sam wrapped a hand around Dean’s and gently placed the ring in his palm and curled Dean’s fingers over it, chuckling. 

Dean shook his head, squeezing the ring for a moment before matching Cas’s actions. Once placed, Dean spoke his vow as he squeezed Cas’s band against his own. “With this ring, I thee wed.”

“Its official. Dean and Castiel Winchester, husbands. You may kiss your groom!” Charlie declared, giving the two men a minute amidst the clapping. A chaste brush of lips, an impossibly tight hug, and the moment was broken by a little body colliding with the mens’ legs unexpectedly. Dean pulled away a little, keeping one hand on his husband’s hip, and reached down to scoop up Jerry. 

Jerry reached a little arm towards Cas and hugged both men, who hugged back. “’gratulations!” he cheered, legs kicking in happiness. “Cake time, now?”

Cas laughed wholeheartedly and loudly, and Dean joined in before answering, Jerry’s face set in a perplexed half-frown. “You bet, Jer. Cake time!”

And everyone headed toward the food, happy in the presence of family, friends, and the newlyweds.

********

If you don’t know the lyrics to Cas and Dean’s wedding song, here’s the link:  
http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/motorhead/lovemeforever.html


End file.
